The Death of Bulma Briefs
by TheAlchemist'sDaughter
Summary: Veg/Bul: Bulma died after an accident in her lab. Vegeta doesn't like it, and he isn't going to stand for it! rating may change.
1. The Death of Bulma Briefs

**Author's Note:** This was initially going to be a one-shot, but I could hardly leave her dead, could I!? So, there is more to this, but it's not turning out the way I wanted it to… I sat on it for too long, I've forgotten how to make it sound right. If I get an enthusiastic enough response, I'll post the rest. This is just a little pet project for me, it's like physiotherapy for my creativity, those muscles have atrophied, badly! So if I do post the rest, chances are it'll get significantly better as it goes along.

Chapter 1

Vegeta was in a bad mood.

He had been for a few days.

Today wasn't helping. The Capsule Corps compound was crawling with people, all of them moving slowly, morosely, in their black clothes. It was infuriating. But at least they were being quiet about it.

He stayed in the GR, training. Vegeta didn't know what all the fuss was about. So the woman was dead. So what? She hadn't died in battle, or anything else that would warrant any kind of honouring ceremony. She had gone quietly, easily, by accident. And she was supposed to be so smart. Evidently, she wasn't smart enough to save herself. Vegeta hadn't even noticed it happen.

It annoyed Vegeta, all the people. He stayed away from them, just like any other day. But he could still feel it as each new arrival walked past the GR. He could hear their footsteps on the grass and it irritated him as if they were walking over _him_, over his brain. He could hear what they would never have dared to say to his face.

"Disgraceful."

"How can he train on a day like this?"

"Has he no heart at all?"

Yes, it irritated him so much it was almost painful.

But why should he care? He didn't care. He was Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, the Legendary. He didn't have to justify himself to any weakling humans. Just because he wasn't attending their stupid remembrance, their _funeral_, wasn't that what they called it? He seemed to remember that was what the old fool had blubbed to him when he had invited him. It was pretentious of the old man to even ask him. Why would he go, and stand around with a bunch of crying humans looking at the box containing her remains, listening to strangers prattle on with inane stories from her past while he tried not to gag on the smell of the flowers?

There was nothing to honour, anyway. The woman had been a loud, shrill, annoying, emotional, crazy bitch. The people outside hadn't had to live with her. He had. He had put up with her for long enough as it was. Vegeta knew what they thought, but they were wrong. He didn't owe her anything. The Prince of all Saiyans didn't owe anybody anything. Just because she'd opened her home to him didn't mean she'd done him any kindness. It was the proper course of action when dealing with a Prince.

They should be grateful to him that he hadn't killed her himself. He had threatened it enough times. They should be thanking him for never going through with it. He was strong enough, infinitely stronger than her. He'd lost count of the number of times he had protected her, or that she had needed his strength for some trivial chore. Why did she persist in buying those jars of condiment that she was too weak to open herself? Another argument against her intelligence. And how many times had he rushed to her after hearing her scream only to find a fleeing insect as the cause? Just how she had reached adulthood without even being able to dispose of a simple lower life-form was beyond him. And she continually proved her weakness by being overly grateful for what little strength he did expend on her behalf. Every opened jar or scorched bug carcass earned him a kiss on the cheek as thanks.

Vegeta knew that third-class fool, Kakarot, was outside. He had arrived the night before to help in the preparations. Vegeta had not condescended to speak to him, and the idiot had mercifully restrained himself from seeking him out. There were other ki strong enough to stand out arranged at the front of the crowd. The Namek, and that weakling human the woman had associated herself with among others.

Vegeta knew he would be ashamed to have such a pathetic excuse for a warrior at his "funeral," though he doubted anyone on this planet would be foolish enough to hold one for him in the unlikely event that he should perish and they survive. That was fine with him. It would never be worthy of a Prince anyway. The woman probably would have insisted though, since she was so moronically sentimental.

And it wasn't as if he had ever actually declared himself her protector. He wasn't at fault here, regardless of how the humans would look at him if he went outside. He had been legitimately occupied at the time of her death. All the other times he had gone to her aid, he had been doing her favours that she did not merit. A Prince does not answer the beck and call of a human female. No blame could be laid at his door for this. It wasn't as if the woman had screamed, she hadn't made a sound, unaware she was dying as she worked alone in her workshop. He hadn't found out the woman was dead until hours afterwards when her simpering mother collapsed into a shrieking, hysterical heap.

Vegeta engaged several of the battle droids that equipped the GR. He felt like he needed to _battle _something, punish and destroy something, instead of just moving through katas and doing pushups as he usually did.

If she hadn't known, if Earth's great genius hadn't been able to tell that her machinery was leaking carbon monoxide, slowly poisoning the air around her, then how was he supposed to have known? He could not have been expected to save her. If she had made a sound, if he had been able to smell the gas, then she would undoubtedly still be alive today. He would not have failed. But her death had gone unnoticed by everyone. He could not be blamed. He was never meant to be responsible for her.

He could hear the beginning of the ceremony, the solemn dirge of the religious man her parents had hired to preside over the group until they put her in the hole they had dug especially for the occasion. Vegeta thought that was a particularly dirty, disrespectful way to dispose of her body, but he couldn't be bothered to interfere in their foolish human customs. Let them do what they want and leave him alone.

He focused on his training, pushing himself in order to drown out the sentimental nonsense going on outside. He kicked, punched, dodged, attacked, and blasted in extreme gravity until it hurt and he knew he was doing it right.

After all, the stupid woman hadn't called out for him. They had no right to look down on him for failing to save her. It had never been his responsibility.

Vegeta concentrated on the fiery burn in his muscles as he fought against the intense pull of the floor of the GR to swing his leg out in a roundhouse kick several metres off the ground, sending the droid crashing to the floor in a very satisfactory manner.

It had been carbon monoxide poisoning. Not an enemy he could have fought for her. Not something he could have killed. Not something he could take revenge on.

Knowing he had more strength than he could feel, he charged a ki blast between his hands, and fired it at a droid with a cry as he forced himself to push his limits. The shot was more powerful than necessary and the droid disintegrated into particles.

She hadn't cried out, he hadn't known what was happening. If only she had given some indication that she was dying while he trained, oblivious, in the yard. But she hadn't, and it wasn't his fault, and he didn't feel guilty. He didn't owe her anything, not a damn thing, no matter what everyone else thought. They hadn't lived with the woman, and they hadn't been there when it happened. He had.

He hadn't known, and he wasn't responsible, and he didn't feel guilty. So what if it had been his new GR that had filled the room with the gas that killed her? He hadn't asked her to build the damn thing.


	2. The Resurrection of Bulma Briefs

**Author's Note: **heh, okay, so I am continuing this. I was surprised by the reaction I got! I didn't think that many people would care. Thanks, everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much.

Chapter 2

It didn't take long for Vegeta to break the GR, and when he did, the nothingness that filled his days almost took him by surprise.

The old man said he would fix it, but he was slow and clumsy, he didn't work as well as the woman had, especially now that his daughter was dead. It was depressing how completely these humans fell apart when they lost one of their own. They wouldn't have lasted five seconds on a Saiyan battlefield.

And now there wasn't even the woman to come strutting through the kitchen, bitching at him. No one spoke to him. They didn't ignore him, but they didn't pester him either, the way the woman would have. They didn't seek him out. Her blond mother murmured a few words when she handed him his meals, and her father sighed and dithered when Vegeta went to chase him up about the GR, but generally, things were very peaceful. If he had been able to train properly, Vegeta would have been grateful, but as it was, he was rapidly becoming very bored.

He refused to conclude that things were better with the woman around. He just needed his GR, and the old man was not getting the job done. The situation was unacceptable. After all, he was training to fight the androids, and these humans were behaving as if they didn't care if they got massacred when they came. Well, fine, Vegeta didn't have to protect them if they were so uninterested in their own survival, but he still had his own goals of defeating that clown, Kakarot, and ascending to the legendary Super Saiyan. And for that he needed the GR, which needed the woman.

Vegeta knew what he had to do.

The woman had left behind a list of wishes when she died. A "will," the humans called it. He thought it was just like her to be making demands even when she would no longer be around to enjoy them. One of these demands had been that she wouldn't be revived by the dragon balls. She claimed some half-baked spiritual reasoning for this nonsense that Vegeta had forgotten almost as soon as he had heard it, as it wasn't worth remembering such drivel. He had been prepared to respect her wish because he hadn't had any reason not to at the time, but now a Prince's needs outweighed the desires of a dead human female.

Maybe Kakarot and the others would be upset, but what were they going to do? Kill her again? Start a fight with him? Vegeta would like to see either. He knew it wouldn't happen. So once he dug out the dragon ball tracker from her abandoned lab, it barely took him a day to collect them all. He felt good about it, racing from one location to the next, it was the best workout he'd had in a while.

Night had fallen by the time he returned to Capsule Corps, which suited him very well. He suspected the humans wouldn't react well to having their daughter's corpse dug up after they had put so much care into burying it.

He made short work of reaching the coffin, and he pulled it out, deciding it was best to remove it to a more private place to summon the dragon. A nearby uninhabited island served his purpose nicely.

He opened the coffin lid and was momentarily taken aback by how she looked. Her long wavy blue hair spread out across the white satin interior, framing her pale face perfectly. She was dressed in a white summer dress, slightly more classy than what she would normally wear, but still keeping to her general style. In her hands she held some wilted flowers, the only visible sign that death had occurred here. Apart from them, her pallor and her perfect stillness, there was nothing to say that she wasn't just sleeping. Vegeta had seen a lot of dead people in his time, but not one of them had ever looked like her. She was truly beautiful. Whatever the humans had done to her to preserve her in this way had worked. The smell of chemicals was strong, under which the scent of decay lay hidden.

Vegeta turned away from her and summoned the dragon, wishing for her life back. The dragon disappeared and so did the dragon balls. Then he turned back to Bulma.

She moaned a bit, then opened her eyes. Those big, blue eyes. Vegeta had never seen her looking less belligerent. But then she frowned a bit in confusion and the attraction was gone.

"Vegeta?" she said, her voice sounding understandably hoarse.

"I need you to fix the Gravity Room," he said.

She put her hand to her head and sat up. "I was just building you a new one, wasn't I?" She seemed to become a bit more aware. "Vegeta, where are we? What's going on?" Her voice held a note of fear as she noticed that she was sitting in a coffin.

"You stupidly got yourself killed in your workshop when the new GR started leaking carbon monoxide. I wished you back," Vegeta answered perfunctorily.

"But I said I didn't want to be wished back," said Bulma, clearly restraining a rising anger.

Vegeta snorted, "As if I care about that," he said.

A great sadness seemed to settled over Bulma. "Of course," she said. There was a pause as she looked away from him. "So, I died, huh? And this is what they buried me in? A good a choice as any I suppose."

She lifted the dead flowers, picking at the petals, until she just tossed the whole lot out of the coffin. "How long have I been dead?" she asked with the same morose tone.

"Two weeks."

She nodded, still making no move to get out of the coffin.

Vegeta moved to set her on her feet. Her attitude was making him uneasy somehow, and he wanted to put an end to this lethargy. "Come on, I need you to fix the GR," he growled.

She looked at him suddenly and dodged his hands. "Is that the only reason you wished me back?" she demanded of him.

"What are you blabbering on about now?" he replied.

"Just answer the question."

"Yes, I wished you back because I need you so that I can train properly! Are you happy now?" he snapped.

"No," answered Bulma. "In fact, I think that's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

Vegeta exhaled sharply through his nose in exasperation. How could he have forgotten how confusing and contrary she could be?

"What are you complaining about? You're always saying I should appreciate your so-called genius more!"

"I know but… I guess it _is_ too much to ask that you would actually miss me," she said.

"It is better to be needed than to be missed. But enough of this nonsense, I brought you back for a purpose, and I'm not going to waste anymore time discussing your emotional insecurities with you."

And with that, Vegeta bent down and scooped her up in his arms, leaving the coffin behind, and took off into the night.

He couldn't fly as fast with her as he could alone, the g-forces would scramble her brains, so it took longer to get back to the compound than he wished. But at least the woman didn't talk on the way. In a way, it was worrying, as if not all of her had returned from the other side. Hopefully she would have enough of her mind left to fix the Gravity Room.

She had put her arms around his neck fairly easily, and she didn't seem to object to being so close to him. She was watching the rippling seas rush past below, so Vegeta felt safe enough to sneak the occasional glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was still lifeless, expressionless, and he wondered if he had indeed done something wrong in wishing her back. If he had, it would not be the first time, and he would not regret it as long as she continued to serve his purpose.

It was only the beginning of summer, and the night brought enough of a chill with it that Bulma was uncomfortable in only her burial dress, especially with the way the wind combed through her hair and swept over her neck. She shifted her position in Vegeta's arms, turning her body into his and sheltering her face against his throat in an effort to benefit from his heat. He looked at her, but didn't say anything. It struck Bulma that if it had been someone she had feelings for doing this for her, then she probably would have considered the scene the most romantic she could have imagined. It was funny how Vegeta managed to ensure that such feelings were impossible, without even trying.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and lost track of time, as the next thing she was aware of was their angle changing as they descended to land safely next to the GR in the Capsule Corps yard. Vegeta put her down and she realized how stiff she was.

"You don't expect me to fix it tonight, do you?" she said when Vegeta crossed his arms expectantly. "It's the middle of the night! It's too dark!"

Vegeta snarled in frustration. "Then you fix it first thing tomorrow morning," he growled.

"Yeah, yeah. You know, you could always learn how to fix it yourself, and then you wouldn't need me at all," she said, in the same expressionless, slightly depressed voice that she hadn't broken out of all night. She began walking away towards the main building.

"Where are you going, woman?" Vegeta demanded.

"Bed, Vegeta. I'm… tired," she murmured.

She disappeared into the house, but Vegeta stayed where he was, looking after her. He was uneasy, and for some reason he didn't feel safe letting her out of his sight. However, he shrugged it off, telling himself that the woman was fine, and that he was weak for worrying. After all, he himself had been brought back from the dead without any major side-effects. She probably _was _just tired. She had been dead for longer than he had and she didn't have his powerful Saiyan physique.

He flew to his own balcony and prepared for bed himself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she needed him somehow, that he was neglecting her in someway. It couldn't have been worse if she was hanging from a cliff by her nails. And when he did lie down and close his eyes, he was haunted by the memory of her white and still in her coffin.

Finally, he had had enough, and, berating himself for being so idiotic, he flew out of his window to look through hers, and establish her safety in that way. However, when he did, he was surprised by the raw emotion he was confronted with. Bulma was curled up in a tight ball under her covers, her entire body jerking with violent sobs as she bit into a pillow that she was crushing to her to make sure she wasn't heard. Vegeta hadn't seen such pure anguish in a long time, and he couldn't imagine what was causing it. She had her life, she should be glad.

Seeming to realize she was being watched, she looked up suddenly and met his eyes. With a faint groan, she rolled over and put her back to him, her hands wiping at her face. Vegeta landed on her balcony and opened her door.

"Why are you crying, woman?" he demanded harshly. He knew that humans liked to be treated softly in these situations, but he was affronted. He had gone to a certain amount of trouble for her and so far she hadn't shown one bit of gratitude.

"Why do you care?" she retorted, with more emotion than he had heard from her all night. It made him feel a bit more reassured. This was more like the Bulma he remembered. However, her question unsettled him as he realised he didn't have an answer for it.

"Were you in Hell, is that it?" he asked, prepared to scorn her and lecture her about being strong. Nothing irritated him more than when other people made a big deal out of something he had struggled through without complaint.

"No," she said, making his words die in his throat.

"Then what's the problem?" She was getting on his nerves.

"You! How could you be so cruel, so selfish?" she shouted at him through her tears.

"What?! I saved your life, you ungrateful hag!"

"No, you didn't! You brought me back from the dead, there's a difference!"

Suddenly there was a rush of footsteps outside and the door burst open to reveal the woman's parents. Obviously, they had heard their daughter's voice. The situation quickly deteriorated into a lot of sobbing and hugging and other exaggerated human behaviour. Vegeta slipped out unnoticed, recognising that any hope of further discussion with the woman was lost.


	3. Fix The GR! Before I Fix You

**Author's Note:** This one's a shortie, sorry. I'm finding this story quite hard, actually. I was trying to make Vegeta express his attention towards Bulma the only way he knows how, with violence. I hope you got that, that he wants to touch her, but because he's so deep in denial, his lust is getting re-routed through the warrior side of him. Urgh, I can never think of anything to say when it actually comes to writing these stupid author notes.

Chapter 3

The next morning, after a night filled with phone calls, sudden visits, crying and general excitement, Bulma got up late. This annoyed Vegeta, who was waiting for her to fix the GR. Eventually she showed up, wearing a pair of coveralls as trousers with the arms knotted around her hips and a plain vest with her hair up. She had bags under her eyes and she looked preoccupied.

Vegeta had spent more than a passing moment the night before going over her strange behaviour. She had called him cruel, and selfish, which she never had before. Undoubtedly, he was those things, although he didn't consider his royal entitlement as selfishness, but she had never turned against him with such sincerity before. And it had been triggered by his wishing her back to life. Did she really hate her life so much? She had always seemed happy enough. Vegeta would never understand these human women.

"Alright, Vegeta," said Bulma with a heavy sigh when she reached him. "Do you know if it's a problem with the computer or the mechanics?"

"How am I supposed to know, woman? I am used to my technology _working_," he replied. He insulted her almost by rote, the words just sprung from his mouth whenever she was near.

But Bulma didn't take the bait. A small crease appeared between her blue eyebrows, and she gave a small huff of irritation, but she didn't start screaming at him the way she would have before.

"Well, what aspect of it isn't working? What were you doing when it broke? Do you think your _impressive _Saiyan mind can handle telling me that?" she replied, her voice hardening with sarcasm.

Vegeta sneered at her, readying a slur on her own pathetic race, when Bulma held up her hand suddenly at shut her eyes.

"Forget it. I'll figure it out myself," she said, getting the GR to open for her and marching inside. Vegeta followed her, snarling. No one cuts off the Prince of All Saiyans, she should be hanging on his every word, waiting with heady anticipation for whatever should happen to cross his mind.

She stood at the computer, idly pressing keys with one hand, while her eyes read the code that ran across the screen. Vegeta hated to admit that there was anything he couldn't do, so he would let her get on with it, as the systems check meant nothing to him.

Instead, he found himself studying the woman, thinking about her odd reaction to being brought back to life again. She seemed more like herself this morning, but her movements were still slow, her face was less alive. Death had not withered her figure at all, and Vegeta didn't think it could be anything physical. What would be the point in the dragon bringing her back with a sickness?

But the way she was behaving was annoying him. Not the way she used to annoy him, by laughing in his face when he threatened her life, or by never shutting up, or by trying to engage him in some obscure human past-time. No, this was annoying him precisely because she wasn't doing anything, she was acting like a shadow of the woman he remembered. It frustrated him, Vegeta never did anything half-way. If he wished for the woman, he wanted the woman, damn it. This… _presence_ floating around, barely acknowledging him, made him angry. He wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her until the fire in her sparked again. As it was, she probably wouldn't even struggle if he tried that now.

"Hmm, looks like you went a little overboard, that's probably what broke it. You've been doing well though, in general," said Bulma in a flat, conversational tone.

Vegeta grunted in response. He didn't like that she could see the results from his training sessions. It felt like something intimate, he didn't want her to know his exact power level so easily. But she had said he had done well, hadn't she? She would think so, compared to anything a weak human might accomplish.

Bulma left the computer and walked over to remove a panel in the wall. She examined the wiring and the machines inside, moving gradually further and further into the cavity, until she was lying on her back with just her bent legs and her hips visible.

Vegeta was struck by how vulnerable she was now. She wouldn't be able to see him from where she was, nor would she be able to extricate herself very quickly. He could do anything to her. He could knock her legs out straight, stamp on them, break her legs so that she wouldn't be able to walk again. He could make her scream, get some kind of reaction out of her. With just her hips showing, he could do anything he wanted to her.

The Saiyan shook his head to clear his thoughts. Why was he thinking about such childish games, attacking someone because they were defenceless? And the woman didn't even suspect. He was a violent killer of worlds, but she thought nothing of prostrating herself before him and letting him out of her sight. She obviously underestimated him.

He began walking towards her, closing the difference between them. He didn't know what he was going to do when he reached her, he just felt… curious. He squatted beside her bent legs in their baggy, fire-engine red coveralls. She coughed lightly and his eyes flashed to the movement of her stomach tightening briefly.

"Dusty in here," she said quietly. She hadn't seemed to notice how close he was.

Vegeta eyed her knee closest to him. It waved slightly, knocking half-heartedly together with its neighbour. He had the urge to reach out and stop its movement, smooth out the red cloth covering it and expose its shape, then bring it closer against him, where it belonged. He was sure it would be soft.

The woman coughed again. If she kept doing that she was going to -

A feminine sneeze, immediately followed by a loud, metallic thump was heard.

"Owwww…."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and watched as one hand appeared through the gap, reaching blindly. He stood and grabbed her knees, pulling her out from the machinery in one firm tug. He looked down at her with one eyebrow raised, while she looked up at him through narrowed eyes, daring him to say anything. One hand covered her forehead. She rolled onto her side and sat up.

Her hair had been pulled out of place, and looked whiter with the layer of dust. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers, and Vegeta could see a red mark. He kneeled next to her and removed her hand so that he could examine her himself.

He snorted derisively, "It's not even going to make a bump," he said, tossing her hand back at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll try harder to disfigure myself next time," she spat back, her hand returning briefly to her head.

"Did you finish the repairs at least?" he said.

"No, I'm going to have to order a part," she replied.

Vegeta snarled in frustration, "And how long is that going to take?"

"A few days," answered Bulma, getting to her feet and dusting herself off.

"That is unacceptable," stated Vegeta, standing and crossing his arms.

"You're telling me. Like I want to put up with you anymore than I have to," she replied, giving him a sneer before stalking away. At least the incident seemed to have brought back a bit more of her spirit.

Her melancholy had returned by the time Vegeta saw her again, however. He had trained without the benefit of increased gravity for the rest of the day, and now he had returned to the main building in order to look for food. Unfortunately, this coincided with the Brief's family meal. Vegeta ignored them, going straight for the fridge to fix his own meal, and for once, they were too preoccupied to notice him as well.

"Come on, Bulma, honey, just eat something, please," whined the simpering blond mother.

"Mom, I told you, I'm just not hungry, it's not a big deal," replied Bulma, slumped in her chair.

"But, Baby, I haven't seen you eat anything since you came back," continued Bunny.

"Don't say it like that, like I was just on holiday. I've been dead for two weeks, I think I'm allowed a little loss of appetite," replied Bulma.

"But it's not good for you, and I cooked your favourite." The older woman's eyes were tight with concern and her hands were fluttering uselessly by her chest.

"Well, if you're worried about it going to waste, give it to Vegeta, he looks hungry," answered Bulma, pushing away from the table, and thrusting her plate into Vegeta's surprised hands. He had never seen the woman act with such impatience towards her family before. She had always indulged them. He could hear her run up the stairs taking them three at a time.

He just shrugged and sat in her place in order to finish off the hot food before supplementing it with cold scraps from the fridge. Whatever emotional breakdown she was going through, she would have to deal with herself. He was not going to support her weakness the way her parents were. She would either be strong and come out of it, or she wouldn't. As long as the GR continued to be repaired, Vegeta wasn't overly concerned with the woman's mental state.


	4. Force Feeding

Chapter 4

The part came, and Bulma fixed the GR without much further incidence. Once she had, Vegeta returned to spending the vast majority of his time in there, and as a result, he did not see much of the woman over the next week or so.

So when their paths did cross, he was surprised by how she had changed. She was much thinner, much paler than he remembered her. Her clothes were the dull, baggy sort she had shunned before the accident, and what little make up she did put on looked stark and only served to make her look worse.

"What's wrong with you, woman? You look like the walking dead," he said to her once, as he sat at the kitchen table.

"How fitting," was her bored reply, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge while keeping her back to him. She left the room without looking at him before he could say anything else.

It was comments like that which gave Vegeta an irritating, pestering feeling, like a fly buzzing around his head, but he always batted it away ruthlessly. Whatever stupid problems she had were her own, and had nothing to do with him. Or if they did, she could confront him about them with honour and self-respect, instead of moping around the place.

He also noticed that the woman spent much more time in bed. She usually had not emerged from her quarters until noon or later, and she was very rarely to be found after dinner. She didn't watch her annoying TV shows, or torture him with her singing anymore. Her mother had become her personal secretary, as Bulma never answered the phone anymore. Vegeta knew this because its prolonged ringing two or three times a day almost drove him to answer it himself. It seemed the woman had lost interest in social interaction. That was fine by him, it meant no more idiots coming to the house.

It upset her mother, however, who resolved to fix the problem by simply forcing Bulma to spend time with her friends. She organized a dinner party, and invited everyone she could think of. Bulma objected, but she couldn't refuse once the invitations had already been made.

Even Vegeta was invited. He had been training in the GR, when a timid knock on the metal door had disturbed him. He had wrenched it open, ready to chew the head off whoever it was, only to find the blond looking up at him from the lawn.

She giggled and blushed, and Vegeta wished he had thought to put a shirt on before answering the door.

"What do you want?" he said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest as the cool air from outside chilled his sweat-covered skin.

"I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come to a little dinner party I'm throwing, Vegeta, dear," she tittered.

"No," he replied, and stepped back to close the door.

"There will be plenty of food for you, I've ordered more than I think even you and Goku combined will be able to eat," she pressed, still smiling sweetly at him.

The offer was only tempting for a second. "I will not interrupt my training in order to waste my time with those morons," he decided.

He laid his hand on the door and began to close it, only to hear Bunny's palm slap against the hard metal. Vegeta looked down at her in surprise and found that she had stepped closer to him, with one foot actually inside the GR. Her smile was gone, replaced by a burning fire that he had previously only seen in Bulma's furious blue eyes.

"But, Vegeta, honey, I think it will really help Bulma. I really want all of her friends to be there," she threatened, keeping her voice light but her intention clear.

The Prince of All Saiyans would never be made afraid of a weak human woman, but he would admit to being startled by her fierce behaviour, and so, in the interest of an easy life and future peace and quiet, he agreed to attend her stupid dinner. Her smile sprang back into place and any sign of the violence her expression had previously held disappeared without a trace. She gave the door a playful tap.

"Good! See you tomorrow at seven!" she sang, and left him alone. Vegeta shut the door and resumed his training even further confounded by these capricious Earth women.

Later in the evening, Vegeta wandered into the kitchen, and almost walked back out again. The blond woman was in there, sighing and trembling over something, and Vegeta was apprehensive to deal with her when she was in an emotional state, especially after already having to converse with her once that day. But he knew it would be cowardly and entirely ridiculous to run from her, so he braced himself and strode in, heading for the fridge. As he passed, his eye fell on a plate of food that the woman was covering with a thin sheet of plastic, tucking the edges under delicately.

Vegeta failed to see what there was about the dish that was upsetting her. He knew that food wrapped in plastic was being preserved, so presumably it was the concept of it going to waste that was bothering her so much. Well, Vegeta would happily oblige her. He always preferred food that was already prepared than doing it himself.

Bunny saw him looking and sighed again. "Bulma didn't eat her dinner again tonight. I'm really starting to worry about her, you know. You've seen how thin and pale she's getting," she said, and she sighed again, then started chewing on her lip anxiously.

Maybe there was something in the air that was weakening the women in some way, mused Vegeta. But then he did remember the state Bulma was in, and her stubborn depression that was beginning to annoy him. His wish had not restored the woman he had known, just her fading ghost. And he knew he could please at least one of the women and hopefully stop the spread of this irritating fugue.

He took the plate off the blond. "I will put an end to this," he said, and he headed upstairs.

"Oh, well, thank you, Vegeta," stuttered the mother, watching him go, a little surprised but pleased nonetheless.

Vegeta reached the door to Bulma's bedroom, and, when he found it was locked, hammered twice with his fist.

"Who is it?" was Bulma's irritated reply. Vegeta snarled, took a step back, and kicked the door in, breaking the lock and splintering the wood.

"What the _hell_?!" the woman shrieked, infuriated. She was in her bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was tied up messily and looked like it needed a wash. She had sat up at the intrusion, and she was now staring at him in shock. Vegeta noted that the room had the well-lived-in smell of the den of some kind of animal.

"You are going to eat this," he said, and set the plate down next to the hill of her knees.

Bulma looked down at it, her mouth still hanging open. But then anger took over.

"No, I'm not," she snapped in return.

Vegeta had expected a fight, especially after breaking down her door, but he was a warrior, and he revelled in it. He stood over her, forcing her to lean away from him and crane her neck to see his face.

"Yes, you are," he corrected her. He watched as she set her jaw, and he could almost see the steam being snorted from her nose as she breathed fire.

"I don't think so, Mister, not after you just kicked my door in. Get out, who do you think you are?"

"My entrance has no relevance to this issue. You will eat," he countered.

"Why do you care?" she asked, and for a moment he was transported back to the night he made the wish and hadn't been able to answer the question when she had asked him then. Now, however, he was able to reply.

"Your behaviour is upsetting your mother, which in turn is disrupting me. I volunteered to solve the problem as it seems I am the only one with the strength to do so. You will eat this meal if I have to pin you down and force it into you. Neither of us is leaving this room until that plate is empty, and I do not intend to spend all night here. I am not a patient or a gentle man. Now, eat," he ordered her again.

For a moment, Bulma just stared up at him, seething, but he refused to concede an inch on the subject, and she could see that. He stood, dominating her, letting out his ki in order to intimidate her further though she wouldn't realise how, and he felt a smug satisfaction in bending her to his superior will.

Bulma looked away first, huffed, and jerkily peeled back a corner of the cling-film. She picked up a segment of tomato from the salad section of the dish, and popped it angrily into her mouth.

"Satisfied?" she said petulantly after chewing quickly and swallowing.

"Hardly. I want you to eat all of it."

Vegeta felt strangely like he was punishing or torturing her somehow. He supposed it was about as difficult to get the woman to do what he told her as extracting information from an enemy. But at the same time, it felt good. He revelled in the sense of power it gave him, while at the same time he knew he was doing her good. It was all the pleasure of dominating her without any of the negative repercussions he could normally have expected.

Bulma ate the rest of the salad quickly. She ate that first because it was the least objectionable. She knew everything was going to be stone cold, but the salad was at least meant to be that way. When she was done, she looked up at Vegeta, who just cocked an eyebrow at her in response. It was clear he wasn't going to let her off.

She sighed and pulled of the rest of the plastic.

"Can't we at least heat this up?" she moaned.

"You should have eaten it when it was warm," Vegeta chided.

"Jesus, my parents were never this bad, even when I was a kid."

"Perhaps they should have been."

"Hey! Are you saying I'm spoiled? Lay off about my parents," said Bulma, and Vegeta consented. He knew how quickly the involvement of someone's elders could spark an altercation on Earth, and that was not conducive to attaining his goal.

"Will you at least sit down? You're making me nervous," Bulma groused at him after a moment. Vegeta hesitated, but then he consented to perch on the side of the bed, confident that she wouldn't be able to get away from him.

She nudged the plate towards him. "Have some," she said, picking up a disk of grilled potato and eating that as well.

"I will not help you with this, woman," Vegeta replied.

"Come on, I can't eat all this by myself," Bulma continued.

"Your mother prepared it for you, therefore it is an acceptable amount for a human to eat," argued Vegeta smugly.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" snapped Bulma, biting violently into more potato.

"Smarter than you, it seems."

"And yet who needs who to fix whose gravity machine?" Bulma questioned.

"I can't be expected to understand your human technology," said Vegeta, uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken.

Bulma looked away from him and leant back against the headboard. "How convenient," she muttered bitterly.

The conversation died after that. Bulma continued chewing on her cold potato.

"Maybe I just don't like to eat alone, you ever consider that?" she said, after a while.

"Or even at all, which is why I am here. My presence solves both problems," replied Vegeta, no longer with any hostility in his tone. He was growing tired of her constant bickering.

Bulma shifted, picking up a piece of barbecue chicken.

"You really don't want any?" she teased, leaning forward to wave it under his nose. "I know how you Saiyans love meat."

His eyes had tracked the movement while she talked, but her last comment made him bring his gaze up to trap hers. "I am the Prince of All Saiyans, woman, not some animal that will eat from your hand." His voice was so cold, Bulma didn't feel playful anymore, and she leant back and ate the chicken herself. "Besides," Vegeta continued, the corner of his lips lifting, "If I was really hungry, that little stunt would have cost you your fingers," he said, and Bulma dared a small smile in response, afraid not to.

Eventually, Bulma had cleaned the plate, except for one last, lonely strip of chicken.

"Go on, Vegeta, it will be our little secret," said Bulma, pushing the plate towards him with her foot.

"I already told you, woman, I am not going to help you with this," was his tired reply.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she insisted.

"Nor do I believe you have eaten so much that you cannot eat any more," said Vegeta, giving her a hard look.

Bulma sighed. "Do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"You're one to talk."

"I ate it, didn't I?"

"And it might have been easier to get you to eat a pair of shoes,"

"Just eat the chicken, Vegeta,"

The Saiyan stood, taking the plate in one hand while picking the meat up with the other. He extended it to Bulma, offering it to her between his fingers.

"I'd rather see you eat it,"

Something electrified the air between them as Bulma looked at him, and Vegeta regretted his words.

Bulma kept her eyes on him for a moment, then focused on the meat instead and leaned forward, simultaneously resting her slim fingers on his thick, warm forearm to hold him still. Her red lips parted and her white teeth delicately allowed in the strip of brown chicken, closing over the flesh and pulling it from his fingers. A shiver went over Vegeta as he watched. Bulma turned her blue eyes up to him again as she chewed, leaning back slowly on the pillows, looking like an invitation. Vegeta felt a long-absent tightening low in his belly.

"Clean this place out, it stinks in here," he insulted, breaking the spell.

"Pfft, yes, Your Majesty," replied Bulma sarcastically without thinking. She only realised her mistake when she saw Vegeta raise an eyebrow smugly at her. "Oh, it's an expression!" she said angrily.

"One I think you should use more often," he said, turning to go.

"Oh yeah? Well, why don't you take a shower? You're sweaty BO makes me gag," Bulma shot at his retreating back as he left the room, still obviously fairly pleased with himself.


	5. Sore Spots

Chapter 5

The next day, Vegeta had to cut his training short for Mrs Brief's dinner party. As he headed towards his own room so that he could take a shower, he heard Bunny in her daughter's room, recommending outfits and trying to get the woman to take an interest in her appearance.

"What about this? You haven't worn it in ages, and some colours will do you good," twittered the mother.

"Aw, Mom, I don't know… Why do I have to dress up? It's just dinner with the guys anyway…" came the tired objection.

"But, Bulma, honey, you used to love getting all fancy! And I bet it'll make you feel better, looking nice. Yamcha's going to be there, don't you want to surprise him? I remember a time when you could make that boy's eyes pop out of his head," continued the blond with a giggle.

"Please don't talk about it like that," Bulma whined, but she sounded like she was considering it.

"Yes, that's what you need, a nice strong man to look at you with desire. Always makes me feel better! Now, come on, how about this?"

Vegeta reached his room and ignored them. The woman's mother was always so crude. As if having that slimy weakling perv all over her daughter would make her feel better. And besides, he was hardly Vegeta's definition of a "nice, strong man," but he supposed by human standards he was as good as they could hope for. It didn't matter that Vegeta could dismember him and beat him to death with his own arms. The woman would have to make do with what was on offer, it was just her misfortune that the fool was the best she could do on this mudball of a planet. Vegeta hoped their plan wouldn't succeed, he didn't want to have to watch the couple flirting while he was trying to eat.

How low for the woman to prostitute herself to that weakling to make herself feel better. Would that really be all it took for whatever emotion was making her starve herself to dissipate? The woman was so depressed that her very life was fading away before his eyes, but the attention of an idiot could make her revert back to her old self? Vegeta would never understand these human females, because if that was true, imagine how she would shine after a glance from a Prince.

Vegeta almost laughed. She should be so lucky. As if he would abase himself to that extent, to that shrieking shrew of a weak ugly human. He had no affection for anyone, but if he did, he would not bestow it on her, never mind how it might improve her. Why was he entertaining these thoughts anyway? It wasn't as if she would ever accept him, though she should by all rights be grovelling at his feet. Humans had their foolish scruples against killing, so in her eyes, he must be some kind of monster.

Vegeta shook his head as he climbed into the shower, baffled by the turn his thoughts had taken. He banished them by thinking about the next day's training. He dressed simply, but as he heard the first of the guests arriving downstairs, he found himself less and less willing to join them. He was seriously considering skipping the dinner, sure that they would all be too busy to notice his absence, when he became aware of the woman approaching his door.

"Vegeta, my mom wants you to come downstairs," she called without knocking, sounding bored.

"I don't have to answer that woman anymore than I do you," Vegeta snarled in response.

Bulma sighed heavily. "Just come to the party," she said.

Vegeta opened the door and crossed his arms, looking stern. "I will if I want to, woman," he growled.

"Why does everything have to be a fight with you? You said you'd go," said Bulma, putting her hands on her hips and shifting her weight. Vegeta noted that Bunny had obviously got her way as Bulma's hair was washed and curled, her make up was subtle but still managed to make her look healthy and alive. She was wearing a tight little black dress that showed off her curves, although they had recently grown some harsher angles as her ribs and hip bones became more defined. At the end of her long legs some delicate black sandals wrapped their straps around her ankles.

"Maybe I changed my mind," said Vegeta.

"Please, Vegeta? In the interest of an easy life?" she said with a hint of pleading. "I want you to go."

Vegeta frowned. "Why?"

"Because." Bulma looked away from him, wishing she hadn't said anything. "You're a bastard and you piss me off more than anyone I know, but at the moment, you're the only person who doesn't care that I was dead. I mean, I know the others mean well, and that they're glad to have me back and all that, but it's too much. They're _too _nice. They're still thinking about it, but you don't give a shit. You're just as much of an asshole now as you were before, and it's kind of… refreshing."

Vegeta knew he shouldn't be doing her any favours, but he was intrigued by the idea of having her in his debt. She would have to fix the GR without bitching, or anything else that he could think of to make her do to pay him back.

He shut the door. "You're going to owe me for this," he told her.

"Thanks, Vegeta," she replied, and they walked down to the party together.

Bunny had gone all out. She had set out a huge round table for all of them in the garden, with fairy lights in every tree and lanterns lighting the area. Two long tables either side held the food that wouldn't fit on the round one, and the catering crew waited politely to pour drinks and replace the empty dishes with full ones.

Bulma made sure Vegeta sat next to her, and he had Bunny on his other side. The women were annoying, but it was less objectionable than some arrangements. He could have had Kakarot prattling in his ear all night, or his harpy of a wife, or worse, Yamcha, but he was predictably on Bulma's other side. The weakling let no opportunity to tell the woman how good she looked go by, for which she would always thank him before quickly changing the subject.

"I think it's working!" whispered Bunny to Vegeta conspiratorially after about an hour, giving his arm an excited squeeze.

Vegeta studied the couple. He disagreed. The woman did not look happy, though she was trying to. Her smile was becoming more and more forced, and she laughed too easily. Another thing Vegeta noticed was the way the weakling kept giving him the evil eye. He was curious as to what it was that could make the human risk his life in this way.

When Vegeta had finished eating - there hadn't been more food than he and Kakarot combined could eat, though it was close - he stood up to leave while everyone else was still reclining in the chairs, digesting.

"Hey, where are you going?" Bulma called after him.

"To my quarters. There is nothing more to eat," he replied over his shoulder.

"Well, yeah, but we can still hang out. There's no need to go running off without saying anything," she added, a frown of displeasure forming on her brow.

"Woman, I have no desire to _hang out _with you, nor will I ever," Vegeta said with a smirk.

"You're such a jerk, Vegeta!" cried the woman, throwing her dinner knife at his head. She hadn't meant to hit him, her aim was off, and there was no strength behind it. Vegeta caught it easily and sent it shooting through the air so that it slammed into the table in front of her, pinning her plate to the wood and disappearing up past the handle of the knife.

"Don't throw things at me, woman," he said.

"Hey! What's the big idea? You could have hurt her!" shouted Yamcha. He stood up, pushing away from the table violently. He had a look in his eyes as if this had been a long time coming. Vegeta turned to face him.

"Yamcha, calm down," warned Bulma.

"No, Bulma, this guy is dangerous, and he doesn't care about you!" continued Yamcha, pointing insultingly at Vegeta. "He's a psycho, and he shouldn't be _allowed _to live around normal people!"

"You're right, weakling," snarled Vegeta threateningly, "I _am _dangerous, so I'd shut up if I were you."

"Yamcha, if he had wanted to hurt me, he wouldn't have missed, you know that," continued Bulma, trying to end the situation before it started.

"Bulma, don't you care about the way he treats you? I mean, you let him sit next to you as if nothing ever happened! Is it because he wished you back to life? Everyone here was _desperate _to do the same thing, but we respected your wishes! He didn't, and now he's suddenly your best friend?!"

"No, I didn't want to be wished back, but I don't want to spend my whole life living in the shadow of my death, either, and he's the only one that can look at me without thinking about it!" cried Bulma, her voice matching the volume of Yamcha's anger.

"Oh, Bulma, honey, we're just glad to have you back!" interrupted Bunny, her expression pained at Bulma's revelation of her emotions.

"I know, Mom…" sighed Bulma, deflating and running her hands through her hair. She hadn't wanted to let any of the others know that they were responsible for her suffering when all they did was care about her.

"Yeah, it's great that you're back and all, but don't you realise that he's responsible? You never would have died if he had -" The ex-desert bandit was not to be calmed.

"Watch what you say, human," Vegeta interjected again, his muscles straining with holding himself back.

"All I'm saying is that I would have protected you -"

"Yamcha, it was an accident!" cried Chi-chi.

"Vegeta didn't know she was in trouble!" agreed Krillin.

"I would have saved you, Bulma, if I had been there like he was. But he didn't, he was too _goddamn _busy! You know he didn't even come to your funeral? He didn't come out of that stupid Gravity Room the whole time!" Yamcha was looking at Vegeta now, openly accusing.

"I'm warning you…" growled the Saiyan. He was the only one who wasn't shouting, and that made him more dangerous than if he had been.

"Maybe he was ashamed, I know I would have been! But no, everyone just forgives him! 'He's an alien, he's not like us, he's had a hard life, it's not his fault.'" Yamcha mimicked in a whining tone. "Well, I don't forgive him! I'm calling him out!"

"So, you've all been talking about me behind my back?!" demanded Bulma.

"Come on, Vegeta, what do you have to say for yourself? Did you feel _anything _when the woman who's given you everything, your only friend in the entire universe, died right under your nose and you didn't do a thing to stop it?"

It sounded like a small explosion, but really it was just Vegeta's ki powering up instantly and the Saiyan prince slamming into Yamcha, breaking plates and glasses.

Vegeta was irate, he was so angry, he was animalistic. He snarled in the human's face as he held him pinned by his throat beneath him.

"How dare you…" Vegeta didn't seem to be able to speak. Yamcha was turning purple, his attempts to fight his attacker off not even registering with Vegeta.

"Vegeta, stop! Leave him alone!" shrieked Bulma, running over fearlessly and wrapping both hands around Vegeta's forearm, trying to pull him off Vegeta.

"Get off me, woman," he growled.

The other fighters had left their seats now and were pulling at Vegeta, but his anger made him immoveable. Yamcha's eyes had rolled back in his head, and the witnesses became frantic as it became a very real possibility that Vegeta would kill him.

"Vegeta! Let _go_!" Bulma cried again, giving his arm a particularly determined tug.

Vegeta knocked her away with his arm, sending her flying.

"Bulma!" screamed Chi-chi, running over to help her friend.

Goku could see the situation disintegrating, but even he couldn't get the enraged Vegeta off Yamcha without powering up, and he knew that if he did that, it would become a full-scale fight between him and the Prince, destroying everything in their paths. The others would not be safe, and it might very well end with one of their deaths.

Chi-chi helped Bulma up. "Vegeta! Get off him _now_, I mean it!" cried the blue-haired woman, heedless of her own safety.

Vegeta growled, and amidst the chaos of the others swarming around him, still trying to save Yamcha, he lifted his hand and shot a weak ki-ball at Bulma. The rational part of his brain was overwhelmed by his anger at having a human weakling insult him in front of everyone, picking at an issue he hadn't even acknowledged on a conscious level to be troubling him, and the violent, out-of-control part of his mind that was the only part functioning, just wanted the stupid woman to _shut up _for once, and to stop defending the man that had insulted him.

Everyone else only realized what had happened when Goku had phased out with a hurried "Whoa," and reappeared in front of Bulma and his wife, knocking the ki ball aside.

They all froze, staring over at Goku and Bulma. No one was pulling on Vegeta anymore. The Saiyan was ignoring Yamcha, his senses having come crashing back to him the instant he had fired on the woman. Goku stood defiant, watching Vegeta carefully, now fully prepared to fight him if he had to. Chi-chi was staring at Vegeta in shock, whereas Bulma was staring at him in terror. He had never come that close to hurting her, he had never tried so deliberately to harm her before. The only noise was Yamcha coughing and choking on the ground as his airways were released.

Then everything started moving again. Bulma ran, she sprinted away from the group and she didn't stop until she was in her room. Vegeta tried to follow her, but Goku blocked his path.

"I don't think so, Vegeta. You just fired at her," he said.

Vegeta growled at him but didn't force it. His own intense guilt was stripping him of any sense of entitlement. He knew he had no right to check on the woman when he was the danger. But he couldn't stay in their presence any longer after disgracing himself like that. He blasted off into the sky, straight up, until all they could see of him was a faint trail in the clouds.

"I'll go check on her," said Chi-chi, walking inside. The others stayed behind, looking at each other in shock, no one wanting to be the first to speak.

**Author's Note:** Ooh, things really get going now!


	6. Mountain Tops

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the slow update. This is the chapter where all their emotions, especially Vegeta's, are explained. A lot of introspection here, folks. And thanks for sticking with it, and reviewing, especially: Sky Unicorn, Bluebanany, and Remembering Childhood, you guys reviewed both last chapters, look forward to hear what you think of this one. And to anyone I've missed out, my deepest, sincerest apologies.

Chapter 6

Vegeta was sitting on the nearest mountain top, ignoring the snow and the beautiful view.

He had fired at the woman. He had fired at her, and if it wasn't for that fool Kakarot, he could have killed her. He probably would have. He knew it was a weak ki blast, but the woman had no strength at all. He had fired at her… to shut her up.

There was no justifying or rationalising this. It would never have happened before she died. She had screamed at him and pissed him off before, too many times to count, but he had never acted to hurt her. Never. So why now? What had changed?

It was that weakling, Yamcha, and the things he'd been saying. He'd accused Vegeta of being responsible for Bulma's death. Maybe only partly, in an indirect way, but responsible none the less. He had compared them, saying that he would never have let it happen. He had been saying that he wouldn't have failed where Vegeta had.

Obviously, any Saiyan Prince would be angry to be compared to such a pathetic human excuse for a warrior, but that wasn't it. That alone shouldn't have caused the reaction it did. Normally, Vegeta could have put him down with words, or with a coolly executed display of strength. Instead, he had been reduced to - the Prince shuddered to think of it - an undignified snarling animal. Shameful. So what was it?

It had been what he was saying about Bulma. That Vegeta was at fault. Guilty. But why should that matter? He was responsible for the deaths of millions, entire planets, and unlike any of them, he had bothered to bring this one back to life. Surely, it shouldn't even be an issue anymore. Except that the woman hadn't wanted to be brought back, and now something was wrong with her.

So it had been the subject of the weakling's words that had bothered Vegeta. But why? Why had the discussion of the woman's death robbed Vegeta of his reason? Why had he reacted so badly? The only possible conclusion was that it was a sensitive subject for him. But that shouldn't be, there were only a handful of topics that could send him into such a rage - his competition with Kakarot, his humiliation at the hands of Frieza - and the woman's death was not on a par with _them_. Surely not.

Vegeta replayed the moment in his mind, looking for the trigger in the weakling's words. The accusation, the disrespect, the sneer on his face as if Vegeta was beneath contempt, even now they made the snow melt around the Saiyan and his muscles tense with anger. How _dare _he… He was the Prince of All Saiyans! He was royalty, he was infinitely stronger than that weakling, he could scrape him off the sole of his shoe like dirt if he wanted to. He knew these things, so why the blind rage, the loss of control? They were unbecoming of him, the wrong course of action.

Once again, Vegeta was forced into the conclusion that he _cared _about the woman's death. He had gone mad because the human had been playing with an open wound. She had died whilst he had been right there. Vegeta himself felt as if he had let it happen. Yamcha blamed Vegeta for Bulma's loss and the pain it had caused them all, and he had rubbed Vegeta's face in it. Hence the powerful need to silence him. Vegeta had also felt the pain and grief that they had, but he hadn't acknowledged them. They were not suitable for a Saiyan Prince to feel for a human nobody. And when they had been forced upon him, he had reacted violently.

The weakling was right about him. He did feel guilty, something he was not accustomed to. But more than that, when the woman died, he had felt betrayal. She had slipped away without notifying him, and abandoned him on this mudball of a backwater planet, full of idiots who disliked and mistrusted him. She had left him alone, and he didn't like that. So he had brought her back, deliberately going against her wishes in the process. He realised that he had done so partly for his own satisfaction, but also to punish her. He wanted to inflict pain on her. He wanted revenge for what she had done, for dying and abandoning him, and for making him feel things he shouldn't.

Vegeta frowned as the weakling's words returned to him. _Did you feel anything when the woman who's given you everything, your only friend in the entire universe, died right under your nose and you didn't do a thing to stop it?_

What did this mean, then? That he considered the woman some kind of… companion? A _friend_? Ridiculous, the orphaned and mistreated Prince of All Saiyans had never had any friends, they were a weakness, a distraction, and an opportunity to betray him. He had never needed any friends in the past, so what was it about this human female that made her the first? If he allowed her this status, as unwillingly as it was, then surely, on some unconscious level, he must… trust her.

It must have been because she was human. She was not strong enough to pose a threat to him, so he had let his guard down. Never mind that she had taken him into her home when he otherwise had nowhere in particular open to him, and given him everything he needed, from enough food to satisfy an appetite which must seem enormous to her, day after day, to a training facility designed especially as a gift to him. He must have considered his strength, something her whole planet was sorely lacking, as repayment. His strength was the only thing he had to offer her, the only thing he had of value. He had told himself he would protect her, and he had failed.

He thought about the first time they had met. Even then, he had found her terrified reaction to him amusing, as she shrieked with such animation. Her colouring was so intriguing, perfect blue, enviable on any planet. And what was it she had called him? Cute? She was utterly fearless. Everything that had mattered his entire life meant nothing to her. His royal blood, his destroyed planet, his strength and his fearful reputation. To her, he was just a cute little alien pouting in the corner. It was infuriating and liberating at the same time.

So he had some sort of acceptance of her, a very small amount of affection. She had become his friend before he had even known it himself, but just like he had sensed would be the case when he was in Frieza's court, she had betrayed him. She had died and left him alone. She had made him fail in his self-appointed mission to protect her. He was angry at himself because of that, but he was even more infuriated with _her _for making him feel that way, and for betraying him on top of that.

He had wished her back to life to punish her, and he had fired at her at the party for the same reason. He wanted her to suffer, he wanted to see her in pain, and he wanted to remind himself that he was still strong. She had been screaming at him to spare the life he was holding between his hands, and he couldn't take her harping any more. How dare she act on behalf of that insect when he was the one who had brought her back to life? He had saved her, albeit a bit belatedly, and she didn't even pretend to be grateful. Vegeta didn't save anybody. He did not do people favours. But he had gone to the trouble of bringing this woman back., and she was angry with him for it. She was squandering it, starving herself and being miserable all the time. He was trying to protect her, and treat her well, but she was turning against him at every attempt.

Although… She _had _favoured him at the party, making a special effort to get him to attend, and to sit next to her. But that had more to do with how the others were treating her than any feelings she held for him. Still, it indicated that, for the moment at least, he was her preferred person. And on some level, she had forgiven him for going against her Will, if only out of necessity.

So the question was, what to do now? He had come to realise a lot about his emotions of the past few weeks, he had been forced to admit things that he would never have considered possible for him. What should he do about it? He could ignore these feelings, push them away again and hopefully return to the way he was. Things would be simpler, but if it meant that he lost control so easily, then this route was hard to accept. In order to be the best warrior he could be, he had to know himself. There could be nothing he was foolishly denying existed that his enemies could use against him. He also knew that if one of the others, a human or the third-rate clown, were here, they would be telling him that he couldn't be happy if he rejected his emotions, but they did not understand how little he cared about happiness. Happiness was superfluous and unnecessary to achieving his goals. Once he was the strongest being in the Universe, _then _he would be happy.

So he would accept this new-found knowledge of himself, and return to Capsule Corps. Obviously, if he was going to continue to allow himself these feelings, he would have to act on them. A Saiyan Prince wallowing, pining and otherwise permitting unspoken desires to fester would be a pathetic scene indeed. If the woman was his - he still hesitated to think the word - _friend_, then he would seek her company. For that to be worth anything at all, he would need to fix the fugue she was in, which should be perfectly feasible since he was the one who had caused it. Would he apologise for firing at her? No, never, it was beneath him, impossible. But he would make amends for it somehow.

However, there was still that part of him that hated her. It would not be satisfied until she made amends to _him_. Only her suffering or abasement could appease it. Maybe then she would realise how much she needed him. Vegeta was unresolved how he would achieve this though. Hurting her himself was out of the question. No matter how much he wanted it, it would only complicate things further in the long run. Who knew what would happen? She could expel him from her home, or Kakarot could rush to her defence… No, he would need to be subtler about it. A few cutting words perhaps, enough to see real pain in her eyes, before he took her into his arms and soothed his offence.

Vegeta was decided. He would go back to Capsule Corps and talk with the woman. He wouldn't force anything one way or another, nor would he expose himself. He would wait for her to create opportunities suited to his needs.

Resolved, the Saiyan spent a few minutes more calming himself, enjoying the snow and the beautiful view.

OOO

After she left the party, Bulma ran straight to her room. She had got the door back on its hinges after Vegeta kicked it in the night before, but it didn't lock anymore and it was still a bit warped and splintered. However, she wrestled it closed as best she could and paced back and forth erratically. She was frantic, hardly aware of what she was doing. She ran her hands through her hair and grasped her head, her breathing coming in hysterical pants. Adrenaline raced through her veins and her heart beat like a speeding steam train.

Vegeta had fired at her.

Over and over again, she saw that glowing ball of fire appear and come at her, until Goku's broad back materialised in front of her. She had been close to dying, in real and present danger. Her life had been threatened, the life she hadn't wanted back, the life that had been torturing her since it had been returned to her. She had been about to lose it, and that thought scared her.

She heard knocking at the door.

"Bulma? Bulma, are you in there? Open up." It was Chi-chi, she too sounded frantic, only she was presumably just concerned for her friend.

"I think I just need a moment alone, okay, thanks," babbled Bulma, her voice too high to sound casual. She didn't want to see her friend. She didn't want to be fussed over or talk about what had just happened. Every nerve and synapse in her body was going into overdrive and she knew Chi-chi would only want to calm her down, but Bulma didn't want to lose this feeling.

The door opened anyway, and the other woman rushed in. She seized Bulma by the shoulders, stopping her pacing and forcing her to look at her.

"Are you okay?" she said seriously.

"Mm-hmm, fine!" Bulma trilled, and she twisted out of Chi-chi's grasp, putting some distance between them so that hopefully the other woman wouldn't be able to see how wide her darting eyes were.

Chi-chi wasn't fooled. She stepped closer, "Bulma, it's okay to be scared…" she said slowly, extending her hand as if she was taming a wild animal. Bulma agreed with her, it felt damn fine to be scared, better than anything she'd felt in a long time. "We won't let him get to you…" Chi- chi soothed. "Goku won't let him anywhere near here."

It took Bulma a moment to figure out who she was talking about. And when she realised she meant Vegeta, her fear spiked. They wanted to keep him away from her, but Bulma couldn't allow that to happen. She _needed _Vegeta. She needed him to scare her and make the blood race in her veins.

"Chi-Chi, no, let him come back," Bulma argued, realising with dread that the Prince might not actually _want _to come back. "This is his home, too." Bulma was thinking of any argument she could to convince her friend everything was fine.

"It shouldn't be! He attacked you, Bulma!" answered her friend dramatically.

_And thank God he did_, she thought, ruffling her blue curls.

"Chi-Chi, please, I really don't feel like talking right now. I'd actually be really grateful for some peace and quiet, so if everyone could just go home, I'll call you tomorrow, and let you know how I'm doing." Bulma knew she was being a bad friend, she knew she was blowing Chi-Chi off when all the other woman wanted to do was help, but she couldn't bring herself to behave the way she should. She was on fire and she owed it all to Vegeta, and she didn't want to be comforted or coddled because of it.

She could see she had offended her friend, who withdrew from her with an expression that said she was trying hard to understand.

"Alright," she said, nodding. "Alright, I'll get the others, we'll leave you and Vegeta alone. Just be careful with him, okay? Don't hesitate to call us if you need Goku to step in." Chi-chi was still worried for her safety, Bulma could see that, but she still urged her out of the door, shutting it behind her again. She listened as doors opened and closed, and various vehicles left the Capsule Corps yard. Her parents were probably dealing with the caterers, or back in their own wing of the house. She was alone.

Her adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, and she lay down on her bed to think.

OOO

Everything was quiet by the time Vegeta returned to Capsule Corps. He flew silently through the night to the woman's room, landing silently on the balcony and opening the doors. He walked through to find the woman asleep on her bed above the covers, and he realised he would not be able to talk to her that night. Perhaps that was best, she would be much calmer in the morning than she might otherwise have been, more rational.

He approached the bed and looked down at her. Her blue hair was beginning to lose its curls in places, and she was still wearing the dress and shoes that her mother had forced her into. She must have fallen asleep by accident. Vegeta wondered how she had reacted to being fired at. He remembered all too clearly the look of abject terror on her face before she had sprinted from the room as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. He also remembered the painful lurch his heart had given when he realised what he had done in sending the ki ball at her.

Was she afraid of him now? He couldn't blame her, but that was never something that he had wanted. It would have been useful, during their various fights and arguments, but it wasn't something he desired. He much preferred her fiery defiance over any quivering submission she could give him. How could he ever win back her trust? At the same time, however, he reasoned that she wouldn't necessarily be afraid of him now, when she had never been afraid of him before, no matter how many times he had threatened her. And she seemed to have an endless capacity for forgiveness.

She looked so fragile, and yet she was completely ignorant of it. She considered herself to be a match for him, for anyone. She would take on all comers. It was part of her charm, that she would need him without ever relying on him. He would protect her from the shadows, a threat to all her enemies, and she would not make him ashamed of it because she herself would have no idea.

He sat down on the bed beside her, frowning as he thought of anyone trying to harm her. The movement of the bed must have disturbed her, because she woke up. As soon as her eyes found his face, she threw herself at him, closing his face between her two hands, and covering his lips with hers. She kissed him passionately, forcefully, and Vegeta froze with shock.

When she pulled away, she said hastily, looking into his black eyes, "You scared me tonight, Vegeta. You made me feel more alive than I have since you brought me back. I've been hating my life since then, but when you nearly blasted me, I was afraid to lose it. You made me want to be alive again. Thank you." She kissed him again.

Of all the reactions Vegeta could have predicted, this was not one of them. She hadn't thanked him for giving her life, but she did for attempting to take it from her. And more than that, she was kissing him, sitting in his lap, her knees on either side of him. He couldn't have predicted that the woman would pour lust onto him in a million years. The calm he had established not so long ago was shattered as all his different emotions flew like shrapnel through his head.

She pulled away again, and tossed her blue hair to one side, before fixing him with an arousing stare, as if she was looking deeper than his eyes and pulling him into her own.

"Now I need you to do it again," she commanded in a sultry voice.


	7. Playing Rough

Chapter 7

Vegeta quickly assessed what was going on. She had been living in a numb state, but when he had threatened her life, she had been startled out of it, and now she wanted him to keep her from returning to it. She wanted him to make her _feel_.

Vegeta seized her under the arms and threw her onto the bed, quickly pinning her. "You fucking bitch, do you know what you've done to me?" he growled at her, seething as his mixed-up emotions presented his hate for her to match the situation. If she wanted him to endanger her, he would gladly do it. This was an opportunity to work out all his anger at her. She _wanted _him to do it.

"I hate you, why couldn't you just be fucking grateful I brought you back to life? You should have been licking my fucking boots, you whore," he snarled, gripping her wrists too tightly. She writhed in pain under him, _so beautifully_.

Her legs were still free, and she whipped them out from under her to latch onto him, trapping his hips and bringing them so close together that it almost hurt as she ground against him. She thrust her face up to his. "I didn't want this, I wanted to stay dead, but you just _had _to control me," she said.

He paid her back, thrusting into her grinding hips so hard that he expected to hear their bones crack together. "What was I supposed to do without you on this shit-hole planet? You left me alone," he told her, gyrating against her sensitive nub and watching as her eyes rolled back in her head. She was growing wet for him as he dominated her mercilessly, he could smell it, and he felt his own body begin to react.

One leg slipped from his waist, and he let go of her wrists to replace it, while supporting himself with the other arm. Her freed hands flew to his neck, her nails digging into his skin, leaving red tracks as she pulled him down to her.

"All you want me for is that _fucking _Gravity Room, anyway," she swore, punctuating her words with a particularly vicious grab of her nails, which felt like an eagle's claws on Vegeta's throat.

She kissed him again, forcing his mouth open as if she would violate him, and thrusting her tongue inside to tangle up with his. Vegeta leaned into the kiss, matching her for violence. His hands slid up and down her sides almost gently, his fingers feeling the way her ribs jutted out when she drew in air. Then they slipped between them, gripping the fabric at the neckline and tearing it away, reducing the entire dress to shreds.

"Ah, Vegeta, yes," she gasped, and he bit her on the shoulder to shut her up.

His hands roamed all over her body, seeking to possess her. He snapped her bra away like a rubber band and gripped the soft, ample flesh hard enough to bruise. The woman cried out, and sunk her teeth into his neck, pulling his hair as hard as she could in retaliation, hoping to make him feel what she was feeling. The pain only spurred Vegeta on.

Bulma was going after his shirt, but Vegeta was not accommodating her, so her attempts to remove it grew to be an irritation. The shirt was ripped off and out of the way, exposing every inch of the Gravity Room's work to her eyes. Bulma was almost rendered speechless. Vegeta moved down her body, his mouth descending on her sore and abused breasts. He sucked hotly on her tightened nipple and she hissed, arching into him. She watched his muscular back and smoothed her hand down it, feeling his heat and memorising every rise and fall, before raking her hands up his skin as hard as she could, leaving her own marks amongst his many scars.

"Fucking Saiyan bastard," she snarled, then screamed as he bit down on her breast. She fisted her hand in his stiff mane and jerked his head back to look at her. "Don't do that," she growled.

He kept his eyes on her, but he sent one of his hands down her body to between her parted legs. There was a clear challenge in his eyes and Bulma's hand loosened in his hair with fear and anticipation.

He ducked his hand under her last remaining garment, his rough fingers probing between her soft, slick lips. Bulma almost felt sick with the pleasure, her knees pressing into his sides as they tried to close and defend against the invasion. Her upper body went lax, her breathing coming erratically. One finger penetrated her, and she gasped, though it could have been confused for a moan. A second joined the first as it returned, stretching her, while his thumb cruelly teased the bundle of nerves above.

Bulma was no longer holding Vegeta but he kept his eyes on her face, watching her flickering expressions as he taught her not to tell him what to do. He was punishing her, of course he was, pushing her too far and too fast, but his anger and hate was quickly leaving him. Instead, it was being replaced by something much more substantial, as he found himself fascinated by the effect his venturing fingers were having on the colour of her eyes. Her soft breasts moved like the tide atop the sea of her creamy skin as she breathed, and the look on her face could be mistaken for pain, but Vegeta knew better. He pushed deeper into her, touched her more roughly, as he held tightly to the last strands of his desire to hurt her.

Her warmth closed around his fingers, fluctuating, and his blood raced with the thought of how it would feel to have more than his fingers inside her, to feel her body grip him so tightly and so tenderly.

Bulma's world flew apart at the seams as her whole body shuddered with the orgasm Vegeta had tortured her to, with that asshole watching her like a hawk the whole time. She looked to him as the ragged ends of herself fluttered down to rest in a cognitive pile. She could feel that she had completely soaked her underwear and the bed beneath her, and she watched as Vegeta brought his two glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them slowly.

"Mmmm," he purred insultingly, his black eyes sparking like flints in the dark.

"Bastard," Bulma cursed, which seemed to please him. Her shame renewed her strength, and she sat them up. "Let's see how _you _like it," she said, her hands clearing his pants out of the way. His overconfidence would be his downfall.

Bulma moved back and lowered her face to his crotch which her hands had freed. She sent her blue eyes to capture his, then slowly drew her flat tongue up the underside of his aching erection. Vegeta's whole body seemed to tighten at the sensation, and his lips fell open slightly. Bulma almost got distracted to nibble on those lips, but she remembered what she was doing.

He had tasted her, she was determined to get in a good sampling of Saiyan meat. With one hand on his thigh, fingers spread to tickle the inside with her nails, and one on his hip to centre her, Bulma took him into her mouth, washing every flavour from his flesh. She finished by sucking on the tip and gliding the point of her tongue along the slit to gather any liquids gathered there. A strange noise escaped the proud Prince, a mix of a growl, and a keening purr. Bulma explored further, sending her capable tongue over the loose skin below his shaft, committing the masculine taste to memory.

A tremor went through Vegeta, and he stopped her before he was undone. He gathered her up and she fit herself over him, straddling his hips. Any clothing that remained was stripped off. With one arm supporting her back and keeping any distance from forming between them, Vegeta slowly laid them down on the bed, covering Bulma's body with his own.

"I hate you, Vegeta," Bulma said, as she opened her legs to welcome him into her.

"I hate you too, woman," responded Vegeta, adjusting his weight on his arms and positioning himself so that she would be comfortable.

Together, Bulma pushing up to meet him while encouraging him with a squeeze of her thighs, Vegeta sinking slowly inside, they joined. Bulma curled her hand softly around Vegeta's shoulder as she adjusted to the Saiyan's size. Vegeta closed his eyes as he gave himself over to the sensation of her silken wet heat hugging him sporadically as it accommodated him. Almost without realising, he began to rock, which turned into shallow thrusts, which in turn grew deeper. Bulma smoothed her fingers through Vegeta's hair, which was thick and coarse like the fur of a dog, which she supposed was how it managed to stand vertically upright. Vegeta slid his hand over her skin, soothing all the places that he had gripped or bit too roughly.

Bulma clung tighter to the muscular Saiyan. It suddenly occurred to her that she was having sex with an alien, but she had long since stopped thinking of Vegeta in that way, or as an enemy. He was a bastard of the first water when he wanted to be, but he had also got under her skin in a big way, and he had become her lifeline in the situation he had created.

Her body tightened suddenly, making her gasp, and for a moment they both seized hold of the other as they rode it out. Vegeta gave a harder thrust in response before he could stop himself, and suddenly that became their rhythm. Fast and hard and deep, driving towards completion. Their fingers dug into each other again, tenderness forgotten as Vegeta growled harshly and altered the angle of his thrusts, causing Bulma to have to bite her lip to keep from crying out as he now hit just the right spot over and over again.

It wasn't long before she slipped over the edge, every muscle in her body pulling Vegeta to her, his eyes flying open wide at her body's demanding pull. He couldn't hold out, and he spilled into her, pushing into her as she took everything he had to give.

The room was filled with their panting, until Vegeta rolled away and forced his body back under his control. Bulma closed her legs and her eyes, only opening them again when it got so quiet that she couldn't be certain Vegeta was still in the room with her. She found him lying still next to her, staring at the ceiling.

She shifted into a sitting position against the headboard, and pulled the covers over her.

"Vegeta, can I ask you something?" she said softly. The Saiyan grunted so she continued. "When you were brought back to life, how did you cope with it? I mean, where did you find the strength to carry on with your life?" This was something that had been bothering Bulma greatly.

Vegeta scowled, and joined her in leaning against the headboard, though he made no effort to conceal his nakedness.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding gentler than Bulma could ever remember hearing him, though by most people's standards it still wasn't what you would call tender.

She pulled at a loose thread on the quilt, distracting herself. "The reason I didn't want to be wished back to life if I died was that I thought I couldn't live knowing what the afterlife was like, or if there even was one. I mean, what if I felt like I had spent an eternity in Heaven, or in Hell, only to come back to Earth and find I'd only been gone a day? It would have been really weird, wouldn't it? And I'd _know_, where I was going, I mean. It's not natural to know that stuff.

"And then, of course, it's the only thing anyone can think of about me, now. I'm not Bulma Briefs, genius, or Bulma Briefs, most beautiful woman in Japan, anymore. No, now, I'm Bulma Briefs, the girl who died and got wished back to life with the dragon balls by an anti-social alien prince. They're all _watching _me, to see how I handle it, which almost guarantees I'm not going to handle it very well. Everyone's just waiting for me to go off the rails.

"But the worst part is, now that I _have _died, and I _have _seen what Heaven is like, nothing on Earth seems important anymore. Everything seems so… fleeting. It's like, what's the point? Why bother inventing anything, or looking good, or just generally making a name for yourself, when ultimately, it doesn't matter where you're going? It doesn't matter how smart, beautiful, rich, or popular you are in the afterlife. I just… don't seem to have much to live for anymore. I just feel like I'm killing time until I can die again," she said.

Bulma stopped fiddling with the thread on the comforter and looked at Vegeta. "What kept you going?" she asked.

For a moment, Vegeta didn't answer. He took a moment to wrap his head around what the woman had said to him. So that was the explanation for her behaviour since he had wished her back. She had let her life fade because it seemed trivial and tedious to her after experiencing Heaven, and the expectations of her friends and family were weighing too heavily on her.

Well, Vegeta's experience of being wished back to life had been quite different. For starters, he had not gone to Heaven. He had gone to the other place, and that gave him every incentive to exploit every moment of his second chance on Earth, making sure to get what he wanted on this plain so that he could at least be satisfied when he went to the other. Secondly, he had not had the luxury of slipping from this life in a gas-induced sleep. He had died violently, with just enough time left to him to feel every single one of his failures stab through him, while all his wasted ambitions ravaged him. When he had found himself back on Earth, he had been driven not to let his destiny escape him again.

He looked at her, catching her blue eyes with his own burning onyx ones. He made sure he had her captivated before he answered her. He was going to teach her what she needed to survive.

"Hate," he said. "Revenge. The need for power. Everything was taken from me, I am going to reclaim it all before I let my life end again. I am going to become the feared Legendary Saiyan Prince that is my destiny. Nothing and no one will be allowed to stand in my way. It is true that earthly things do not matter in the afterlife, which is why you must attain them here. You must make sure you end your existence with no regrets. If there is something you want, take it. If there is something you want to become, become it. This is already our second chance, we will not get another one. Do not waste the only life you will ever have by waiting to die."

Bulma was mesmerised by his passion and conviction. "So that's it, huh? Pretty good advice, I guess. I don't know if hate and revenge are really my style, though," she said nervously.

"They are strong emotions, they will help you to avoid weakness," answered Vegeta.

Bulma wasn't convinced, but she thought about it. There was fire in Vegeta, that much was obvious, and it was that kind of fire that she longed to feel for herself. He had a point when he said that she wouldn't get another chance at the life that she had on Earth. But desires and goals still eluded her. She couldn't think of anything that she really wanted, or wanted to be, yet. Maybe all she needed was time. Maybe she needed to get out from under the oppressive cloud of her death that hung over her life here at Capsule Corps, where everything reminded her of the woman she used to be.

A possibility floated in her mind, but she left it for later. First she looked over at the Saiyan Prince still lying in her bed. She had just slept with him, and they hadn't even been friends, not really. She was far from feeling like starting a relationship at the moment, as if he even would. This was a one time thing, Bulma told herself. After all, Vegeta pursuing her romantically was probably one of the signs of the Apocalypse. He had said so himself, the only things he cared about were hate, revenge, and power. She had figured that last one out for herself when he had gone to the trouble of wishing her back to life just so that she would fix the GR. That still hurt a bit even now, weeks later.

Yeah, Vegeta didn't care about her, she was sure of it. She could do what she needed to do without worrying about upsetting him in any way. Why would he care where she went? He had probably just used tonight as a fairly harmless way to work out his anger and frustration at her. But still, she had never expected the ass to be so good in bed. It was definitely a shame that they wouldn't be doing it again.

But they had both agreed, they hated each other, didn't they?


	8. Berlin Calling

**Author's Note:** Okay, folks, I actually finished this story last night, so I can tell you, it's going to be a ten-chapter fic, alright? Enjoy it while it lasts, I know it's not exactly a Great Work Of Fiction, but it passes the time.

Chapter 8

It took Vegeta a moment, when he awoke the next day, back in his own room, to remember why he was naked. But then the night before, as incredible as it seemed, came rushing back.

He and the woman had… Well. That was not something he had expected. He had planned to merely talk to the woman, stop antagonising her, seek to extend their relationship beyond the half-hostile stalemate they seemed to exist in. Instead, they had gone crashing past friendship and into… entanglement.

There was a part of him that said this was not good. It told him a Saiyan Prince should never mate with a female of another species, that he had been manipulated into it by her wicked cunning and he was now going to pay dearly for it, that he had fouled himself and proven himself to be weak. But the fact remained that for the most part, Vegeta was not sorry. The woman may have initiated it, but he had not been tricked in any way. She was an attractive specimen - most of the time - and he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. And if she expected more from him than he was willing to give because of it, he would have no qualms about correcting her.

He was proud of this new development. Earth was sorely lacking in entertainments for a Saiyan warrior prince, and while training was worthy and fulfilling, it was, ever so slightly, when performed all day every day, dull. Snagging the woman every once in a while would provide a welcome change in routine, a bit of amusement to punctuate an otherwise serious lifestyle.

It did cross his mind to wonder what her feelings were, however. There was no denying that she was emotionally unstable at the best of times due to her unwanted resurrection, and she had only thrown herself at him provided that he scare her. Vegeta had always held the impression that human women responded most to gentle and patient attention, not life-threatening violence. On the other hand, demanding a show of strength from a partner before a mating was one of the most rational things he had ever seen the woman do. Hell, it was almost Saiyan. The woman was beautiful and intelligent, obviously she wouldn't want a weakling for a male, despite previous evidence to the contrary. Maybe this was a sign that she was finally recognising him for what he was and appreciating his many qualities.

Vegeta got out of bed and prepared for the day. He was not particularly enthusiastic to see the woman again, in part because one coupling in a night was rarely enough to satisfy a mature Elite Saiyan male, and he predicted that if he saw her again so soon after the act, he would be tempted to… become distracted. This was not a problem in itself, but it disrupted his plan for the day. Training came first, he should wait until the evening to indulge.

As he passed the woman's room on his way outside to the GR, however, he nevertheless paused. He pushed the door open a crack, catching his own scent mixed with hers in the air of the room. He was surprised to see that she was not in her bed, as she was want to be nowadays, until noon at the earliest. Instead, he could hear the torrent of her shower from the en suite bathroom. Vegeta realised that, for the first time in weeks, the woman was actually going to get up at a reasonable hour. He congratulated himself as the cause of the end of her fugue, but he also found himself looking forward to seeing her back to her old self again, smiling, and glowing in that irritating, cheery way she had.

Bulma was not ready in time to catch him at breakfast, and they missed each other at lunch as well, and so it was late in the afternoon when Vegeta saw the woman again. And she did seem to have recovered herself, breezing about the place giving orders. She caught him in the kitchen for an instant, long enough to say,

"Vegeta, come to my room when you've finished that, I want to talk to you," before storming through and disappearing again.

The Prince did not appreciate her tone, telling him what to do as if he was another of her servants, but he knew he would go anyway. He had been correct when he had deduced that she was free of the melancholy that had been haunting her, and he was curious as to what difference it would make to their mating this time. She was still a little too thin, she couldn't change that in a day, but she was impeccably well-groomed again, animated, and she clearly had purpose in her life again. Vegeta had instructed her to fuel her ambitions with disgust for what had happened to her, and he wondered what it was that she now aimed for with such vigour.

He finished the meal he had thrown together for himself, then washed himself clean from the sweat of his training before proceeding to the woman's chambers. He may have obeyed her in coming, but he would not lower himself so far as to knock. He barged in, scanning the room for her.

"Ah, Vegeta, there you are," said Bulma, emerging from the bathroom with various products bundled in her arms which she then dumped on the bed.

It was then that Vegeta first noticed two things. First, that the room had been cleaned, it was now free from the piles of used clothes and that well-lived-in smell that had reminded him of an animal's lair. He supposed it was symptomatic of her rejuvenation, cleaning away the oppressive atmosphere of the room that was too similar to the clouds that had hung around her. He approved.

The second thing he noticed was that the room was a mess. It was now littered with piles of, apparently, everything the woman owned. There were clothes, books, gadgets, jewellery, the cosmetics from the bathroom, everything. Against a wall, there was even a pile of cardboard boxes.

Vegeta was confused by this. Why clean a room only to remove all your possessions from where they were stored to the middle of the floor? Her activity also suggested that she had asked him there for a reason different to what he had in mind. Unless this was some other strange therapeutic foreplay. But it didn't seem that way because Bulma was hardly paying any attention to him at all, rushing back and forth between the piles and the rooms instead. Watching her was making Vegeta dizzy as he refused to move, feet planted and arms folded.

Finally, she came to a rest in front of him, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess with a smile on her face.

"It's good, isn't it? I'll be finished by tomorrow night, at the latest," she said.

"What is it exactly that you are doing, woman?" Vegeta replied, his voice tight, hopefully giving nothing away.

There was a bit of a pause as Bulma looked at him, and her smile weakened. "I'm packing," she answered. "Look, sit down, will you?" She pulled him over to the bed and coaxed him into sitting beside her, retaining his hand. Vegeta was starting to get a bad feeling.

"It's what I wanted to talk to you about. Last night, you told me the best way to survive is to use hate and revenge to make you strong. Well, I don't think I can do that, Vegeta. I can't live like you, I'm not a fighter, I need more in my life. I've been thinking about it all day. You made me realise that I don't want to lose this life, but the only way for me to enjoy it is if I make a change. All I have here is the debris of what I was before, and maybe one day I'll be able to be that again - I want to be - but I'm not ready yet. I need to get there by myself, and I can't do that with everyone watching me and waiting for me to stop disappointing them. I realised that what I need is a fresh start, a completely new setting, where no one knows me and I can feel like a human being again."

Bulma took a breath to steady herself and let it out very deliberately, before meeting Vegeta's eyes. "Capsule Corps is expanding into Europe, and I'm going to move over there to run the operation. I'm leaving at the end of the week, and I'll probably be gone for three years, at least. I might come back when everything's up and running, I don't know, it depends how I feel. I've already left instructions with my parents to keep letting you stay here and to keep feeding you all the things you like, and the new Gravity Room I was working on should be finished before I go. It won't break down as much, and if it does, I've left my dad a manual on how to fix it, so you won't need me for that anymore."

Bulma suddenly found she had nothing left to say, and when Vegeta remained still and silent, she began to worry. "You understand, don't you?" she said.

Vegeta felt a coldness spread through his body from the soles of his feet to the very tips of his hair, and it made him hard and insensible. His hands tightened into fists even as Bulma made a startled effort to keep the one she held with her. He stood up, worrying her.

"You are leaving. I understand," he said, and he walked out, snapping the door closed behind him.

Bulma looked after him, her stomach twisting inside her. He was angry, it was obvious, but she'd never meant to upset him. It was just something she had to do, a change she had to make if she was ever going to move forward in her life. The company's European expansion was the perfect opportunity to feel normal again. She had to go. Vegeta would just have to get over it. Out of everybody she knew, she was confident that he of all people wouldn't miss her.

OoO

Vegeta was angry.

More than angry, he was full of rage, it ruled him. The problem was that the target of it changed so rapidly that he couldn't do anything about it. He was left to seethe, pacing his room furiously.

The woman. She was leaving. Just like that, she was going to pick up and go, as if it all meant nothing.

Himself. What a weakling. Why should he mean anything to her? Why should he be angry she was going? He shouldn't care but he did. He was delusional. Pathetic.

Everyone, the World. How dare they chase her away? How dare they make her unhappy? Persecuting dogs, he should make them pay. Eliminate them. Wipe them from the planet. Then she would have no reason to go.

Her. Foul, bewitching queen. She made him feel these things. She had made him change who he was, accepting things, feelings, and now look at him.

Look at him. Pathetic. Stop caring, or _do something_. It's your fault anyway. You're just incapable of pleasing her, _ever_. She hates everything you do, no matter what you try. You nearly killed her anyway.

Miserable humans, walking putrid piles of waste. Goddamn planet.

So many things were swirling in his head. Grief, anger, hate, betrayal, frustration, self-deprecation, it was never-ending.

Bulma had chosen to go away in order to feel better, have a life again. But in doing so, she was leaving him behind, for the second time, and this time it was a freely made choice. Bitch. She was abandoning him, betraying him, leaving him to the simpering idiots that surrounded her. What? Did she think the Prince of All Saiyans mated with just anyone? She should be fucking _honoured_, but once again she didn't give a damn. She didn't treat him any differently than if he had been just some guy. She didn't care about him, but he cared about _her_. Goddamn it all to Hell, but he did, and it was her fucking fault. _Bitch_.

And once she was gone, putting together a life free of him that made her happy, he would miss her. He hadn't gone to all the trouble of raising her from the dead, then keeping her alive when she didn't want to do it herself, for _this_. So he could be kept like a pet or some house plant while she was gone. _Feed Vegeta for me, will you? _No. Her ingratitude astounded him again.

And it was all because of _them_, her so-called friends. Fucking humans, so she'd died, so what? Couldn't they just get over it? He didn't care, so what was the big deal? It was their fault she was so uncomfortable here, if they were able to treat her like a normal person, she wouldn't be moving onto another continent. Vegeta's geography of Earth was sketchy, but he knew Europe was practically the other side of the planet, especially the western part. The distance itself wasn't really the problem, he could easily fly it in under a day. No, the whole point of her leaving was to get away from them. She couldn't stand to see them anymore. They should be the ones moving away, not her. Then she and Vegeta could inhabit the Capsule Corps grounds peacefully.

When he'd told her to find ambition in her life,_ this was not what he meant!_ Goddamn that _stupid _woman! And Goddamn himself for not being able to extricate himself from the train wreck she clearly was. When had he let her drag him down with her?

She would haunt him, he knew she would. Their night together was still torturously vibrant in his mind. It was not something a Saiyan forgot easily. The memory of how she looked, naked and beckoning, her eyes full of fire and her blue hair so soft around her, it was the kind of thing that snuck up on you in the middle of the day, to derail you without warning and ruin your day. Not to mention the sounds she made were sure to become the bass-line of every song. And, God, the feel of her, against him, beneath him, surrounding him. Not to mention her tongue, her fucking tongue that she had teased him with, with that smug look on her face as she could tell how close it pushed him to the edge.

But he had made mistakes of his own. Using his fingers on her had been one thing, he had done that to punish her for telling him what to do, but tasting them afterwards had been foolish, nearly idiotic. He had done it to mess with her, but where had his brain been at the time? Hadn't he realised that her essence would stain his palette, ever-present in his recollection as if he had his tongue pressed against the most intimate part of her even now?

Vegeta shook his head and ran his hands through his hair roughly, trying to halt that train of thought as his pants grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was mad at her, damn it, not a slave to her body. But then, maybe last night had played a part in her decision. It must have. TV and the woman's inane conversations with Kakarot's mate had taught him that Earth women take mating very personally. He had heard of one-night stands, but surely it was unusual for the woman to actually decide to leave the country the very next day?

He couldn't deny that they were a different species, he had not grown up on Earth. He knew enough to get by, but there were nuances to the woman's culture that Vegeta was sure he missed. It was entirely plausible, if not likely, that he had done something… amiss last night. Unsuitable, inappropriate, _wrong_, whatever word you chose. They had both reached a satisfaction, and there was nothing in her comportment to indicate any displeasure, but still. Surely, if a woman mated with a man of his calibre who satisfied her, she would not immediately leave him. But then, his calibre had never meant anything to her.

He knew had been rough with her, but she had attempted to hurt him as well. It had been what she wanted, she had asked him for it. But maybe this was an Earth custom he did not understand. Perhaps she had not meant it literally, or perhaps she was looking for something specific that he had not given her. Vegeta couldn't believe that he had left her wanting last night, her reactions to him had been too sincere, something not even the best actress could fake, but maybe there was more to it somehow.

He growled in frustration. What did it matter? The woman was leaving, and like _Hell_ he was going to ask her to stay. Fuck her. He didn't need her. He didn't even like her. Look at the mess she was making, he was better off without her. She could fuck off to Europe if she wanted to, he'd be glad to be rid of her. Good riddance.

And with her gone, he had no reason to waste any more time on this cursed planet. He could go back into Space, complete his training in the harshest environments in the Universe. He was never meant to stay on one planet for long. Earth was not his home, never would be. He didn't have a home. He didn't need one. He was going to rule galaxies one day, wasn't he?

It was funny how that dream had somehow lost its shine recently. It was because of that woman. Well, he was putting an end to it right here. If she was going to Europe, if she wanted room to build a new life for herself, she could have the whole planet. Vegeta was going back where he belonged, out in the cold, dark reaches of Space.


	9. Sick

Chapter 9

Vegeta stubbornly stayed away from Bulma the next day, her last at Capsule Corps. He refused to even look at the new Gravity Room she had left for him, leaving it encapsulated on the dining table where she had presented it to him at breakfast. He had just grunted, replying so that she would leave him alone. She didn't seem happy, her expression was pained, but Vegeta didn't care. There was no way she was going to have her cake and it eat it too, as the humans say. If she was leaving, she couldn't expect him to be nice to her as well.

He stayed in the old GR, training furiously, frequently glancing out of the little porthole-style windows at the men in white coveralls carrying box after box of Bulma's belongings out to a van, while she stood over them, issuing orders. He had to admit, part of him was still waiting to see if she would really go through with it. But finally, as evening began to draw in, the moving-van drove away, and Bulma shared a teary goodbye with her parents. Vegeta didn't notice that, however, focusing instead on throwing his full self into a devastating right-hook, followed by a nice round-house kick, all in mid-air in heavily multiplied gravity.

But when he heard a knock on the thick metal door, and sensed the woman's presence, he knew why she was there. He turned back to his training, deciding not to open the door.

"Vegeta? I've come to say goodbye…" he heard the woman call timidly from outside. He continued to ignore her. "Can you hear me? Are you going to open the door?" She waited again for an answer that he wouldn't give.

Vegeta slowed in his movements unconsciously as the silence drew on, until he stopped entirely, floating down to stand on the tiled floor, just listening to her as he kept her outside his walls.

"Come on, Vegeta. This might be the last time you see me for a while," she spoke again.

Vegeta's face twisted into a scowl.

When the only answer Bulma got was more silence, she seemed to lose her patience. "Fine! You can stay in there and sulk like a child if you want to, see if I care!"

Vegeta heard her retreating footsteps. Behind her, the door opened with a hiss, making her turn.

"I am not sulking," corrected the Prince.

Bulma cocked her hips uncomfortably and crossed her arms, avoiding his eyes. "Seems that way to me, you haven't spoken to me all day," she said.

"Saiyan princes do not sulk. I have just been doing what I do everyday, training. I suppose it is inconceivable to you that I just have nothing to say to you?" he sneered.

Bulma's eyes flashed angrily and she shifted her weight again, meeting his gaze now. "You mean you intended to let your last opportunity to bitch at me go by? I'm shocked, you must be getting old," she replied.

"Not old, just sick of your face."

As he looked at her, he knew it was a lie, but he was still so angry, and bitter, he just wanted to hurt her as much as he could, while he still could. Make her regret her decision to leave, make sure he left some kind of lasting impression on her. While she was in Europe, she would have an army of flunkies tripping over themselves to wait on her, constantly reinforcing her self-image of being a beautiful genius, but she would always have that nagging voice in the back of her head reminding her of the stubborn alien Prince who was never swayed by her.

Except for one night.

It was visible in both their eyes, unspoken, behind the cool and uncaring appearances they were trying to portray. The fact that they now knew each other intimately as lovers just made things all the more painful and complicated. They were deliberately hurting each other with their spoken barbs, by neither of them understood why, when they now knew how it _could _be between them.

"Well, then I guess I'd better be going, wouldn't want to inflict my presence on you any longer than absolutely necessary," she spat sarcastically. "And what a relief, now I don't have to worry about you visiting me any time soon."

Vegeta smirked at her cockily, "Guess not," he said. He thought about his plans to go into Space, but he didn't tell the woman about them. Part of him said that it was because she would see it as running away, or that he didn't want to have to put up with her trying to stop him, asking him to stay, but another, deeper part was afraid that she wouldn't care at all.

Bulma fumed at him. "You know, I don't know why I even bothered to try to talk to you, it's just a waste of time, you never change."

She spun on her heel and marched off back into the house. Vegeta closed the door, shutting himself back into the GR.

_You never change…_

Her words echoed in his head briefly, unsettling him. What did she mean by that? Well, the meaning was obvious, she implied that he was the same as he had been when they had first met. But it was also implied that this was a bad thing, and that she had been under the impression that he _had _changed, for the better, it would seem. This disturbed him, because it made him realize that he too had perceived himself as a different person from the Vegeta that had died on Namek. He also realised that he had started to view that person negatively.

When had that happened? That wasn't allowed to happen. He was the Prince of All Saiyans, and he deserved the utmost respect at all times in his life, even from himself. Nevertheless, when viewing his past self, he saw a foolish, head-strong, arrogant man, without subtlety or tact, driven only by rage and the thirst for power. He thought he had moved past that, matured slightly. For example, he had accepted the woman's offer of lodging, instead of pillaging the area of anything he wanted and then destroying it.

But the woman thought he hadn't changed, that he was still an insensible alien brute with no respect for anything in the Universe, that he was still impossible to talk to.

Pah! As if he wanted her talking to him anyway. He must have been watching too much of their sentimental Earth TV, despite hardly ever watching any. There was nothing wrong with the way he was, it was the woman who was too weak to confront him properly and speak her mind. It wasn't his fault she was… afraid of him.

Vegeta heard a car door slam and the vehicle drive away. That must have been the woman finally leaving for the airport, he reasoned. With her gone, he felt as if he had been unshackled from something. It was both liberating and slightly disorientating. He was glad he already had a plan in place, or he might otherwise have been uncomfortable.

He tore open the door of the GR he was standing in, heading for the encapsulated new one which was sitting right where he left it. As he snatched it up, the woman's doddery old father wandered through, apparently attracted by the noise of the door. Vegeta took the opportunity to shake the capsule in his face.

"This thing had better be Space-ready, old man, or I'm coming after _you_," he threatened. Mr Briefs adjusted his glasses, hoping to discern what it was that they were talking about, but Vegeta was already gone. Moments later, a deafening roar of engines could be heard from the yard, and all that was left of the Saiyan Prince on Earth was a patch of seriously scorched grass.

OoO

Vegeta was half-way through a set of three thousand push-ups and counting. He didn't know how long he'd been in Space. Time held no meaning when there was no day or night. He could check, of course, the on-board computer could tell him, but Vegeta preferred not to know the exact number. He had an alarm set to tell him when he should return to Earth in order to fight the androids, and that was good enough for him.

He had to admit, the woman had done a good job on this new GR. The ship that had housed him for however long it had been was efficiently built, with a good user interface, and various new systems and possibilities that made his training slightly less dreary. The living quarters were rudimentary of course, she had never expected the ship to be taken into Space and lived in for any long period of time, but Vegeta did not need luxury. In the beginning, it had even been quite shiny, and had that pleasing _new _smell, though it had lost its sheen a bit by now.

Vegeta was also not exactly sure _where _he was. He had plotted a random sort of course that would keep him away from everywhere worth avoiding, so basically anywhere where someone might recognise him, but he wasn't heading anywhere in particular. He was in range of some primitive planets most of the time just in case he needed to make an emergency stop for food or water, but they hardly had any defences, let alone any sensors that could pick him up at his current distance.

Everything was just the way Vegeta liked it.

Well, a better phrase for it would be 'optimum.' It was the best Vegeta could hope for, he couldn't complain. Life by himself in Space was always going to be a little dull, a little tedious. Waking up every morning and training all day before going to bed again, taking approximately two hours altogether to wash and eat, wore on him some days. Vegeta never thought of himself as a sociable person, but there were mornings, or evenings, when he found himself wishing briefly that the woman was there, if only so that he could insult her.

He didn't miss her, he just wished for a little deviation from training, a little spice. A couple of sentences every two or three days would be perfect. Except, of course, for those nights when he dreamed of her. When he woke up on nights like that, he wished he had asserted himself more when he had the chance, instead of having that stupid conversation with her. He regretted settling for doing things her way, once in a night, instead of the Saiyan way, which required the next day to be spent sleeping due to sheer exhaustion.

He wouldn't say he thought about the woman a lot, merely sometimes, but he had to admit that he thought about her more than any other single topic, besides his training, of course, and his destiny to ascend. He was still angry with her, that she would leave and toss him aside. He was not satisfied that she had suffered enough for it. He didn't want anything bad to happen to her, certainly not since his departure would mean that any punishment would have to be dealt by someone else, which was entirely unacceptable, but he wanted her to squirm a little, see the error of her ways, and come begging on her knees to him.

Of course, there were days when he didn't want that either, when it felt like he had only left Earth five minutes ago, and he couldn't wait to get further and further away from the stupid woman and her entire weakling race. He had forgotten who he was, what it meant to be the orphaned prince of the proud and powerful Vegeta-sei, but out here in the emptiness of Space, he could remember. There were days when he was glad to see the back of everything he had ever experienced on that infuriating mud-ball planet. He didn't even mind leaving that clown Kakarot alive, he would return to finish him off once he had ascended, when he would fight the androids. Yes, there were days when the ship just couldn't move fast enough.

Unfortunately for Bulma, it was on one of those days that she finally contacted the Saiyan. If it had been on one of the days when it felt like he had been away for a hundred years, Vegeta probably would have dropped everything and come running, just glad to hear her voice and see her face, no matter what she actually said to him. But as it was, she never really stood a chance.

She was calling from her home computer - which was still more advanced than many industrial ones - in Berlin, being patched through to the ship by her father at Capsule Corps. The large screen attached to the computer of the GR came on behind Vegeta's back as he did his push-ups. He had never realised he could be contacted in such a way from Earth.

Bulma cleared her throat delicately to get his attention. This was going to be a very difficult conversation for her, but she had decided that she owed it to Vegeta, even if he was the biggest asshole she knew, to at least try.

At the tiny noise penetrating the absolute silence of Space, Vegeta sprung up and whirled around in a defensive position. Not a good start. When he saw Bulma's face watching him on the screen, he almost seethed with rage, marching over to the computer to look for a way to get rid of her.

"Vegeta, wait! I called you for a reason, I need to talk to you," she said hurriedly.

"Well, I don't want to talk to you. I'm in Space, woman, most people would take the hint," he growled.

"So you're not even willing to listen to me?" she asked, getting angry.

"Not if I can help it," he answered.

"Your selfish ass doesn't even want to know _why _I made all the effort of contacting you in deep Space? It's not like I'm going to ask you how the weather is up there, this is important. Or at least, it's damn important to me, and it sure as hell concerns you," Bulma berated him, her large face staring down at him like a stern school-teacher. Vegeta was only half-listening, still trying to shut her out.

"Woman, I guarantee that nothing that is happening on that shit-hole you call a planet concerns me. You don't seem to be in immediate mortal danger, so I really don't give a damn," he replied without looking at her, pressing odd buttons, trying to access the com system he had never known was there.

"Oh yeah? Well, I was going to tell you because I thought even a jackass like you had a right to know, but now I'm thinking I'll tell you just to take you down a notch. How do you like this, Mr High-and-Mighty, I'm -"

Vegeta interrupted her, looking straight up at the screen. "Woman! Will you stop your incessant, inane blabbering mouth? Read my lips, I do not care," he shouted at her with deliberate emphasis.

For a moment, Bulma looked really hurt. All words seemed to fail her as her mouth tried to form a reply to his callousness without finding any. In the quiet second that followed, Vegeta wondered in fear if he'd gone too far this time. But then the woman's face seemed to shut down, closing up into a nonchalant, detached anger that he'd seen a million times.

"Fine," she spat, and her image disappeared from the screen.

Vegeta returned to his training, and it was only as he lay awake in bed that night, waiting for sleep to come, did he feel uneasy, as if something somewhere was not _right _because of him, and he began to suspect he had done a bad thing.


	10. The Return And The Truth

Chapter 10

Vegeta watched out of one of the small round windows as the same crap-heap planet he had left over a year ago grew gradually larger as he approached. He had been thousands of light-years away when the alarm telling him to return to Earth had gone off, and he had turned around immediately, just as he had told himself he would. There was still three weeks before the androids arrived. Plenty of time to reacquaint himself and get settled in.

He had ascended to the Legendary not too long before he had had to return. An unpleasant incident on a poor, dirty planet with nasty, grubby inhabitants had triggered it, and consequently the place would always hold a fond place in his heart. It was too bad he had ended up destroying most of it, but really, the Universe was better off the less that remained. Now however, he had a good grasp of the mechanisms involved, and better control over his increased power. It had blown his mind at first, the amount of pure power that flowed though him, it was truly a thing of beauty.

He was going to land at Capsule Corps. He knew the other losers would also be preparing for the fight, and it would be easiest for him to be fairly close to them. It would also mean less interference from curious civilians and national military. He hadn't been gone so long that the locals would have forgotten the strange goings on at the Capsule Corps compound. It was a good cover for his arrival.

There was also a very good chance of a home-cooked meal, one of the things he had almost forgotten, living off re-hydrated space packs.

Another advantage of landing there, it was probably one of the most likely places to be free of the woman. After all, she was off building a new life for herself away from her friends, wasn't she? She had deliberately _left _Capsule Corps, so Vegeta felt safe in assuming she wouldn't be there. He would see her eventually, but he wanted to get his bearings first. Who knew? Maybe she would be ready to be sensible and be his.

He was a bit more forgiving now that he had finally achieved one of his goals, and he was willing to overlook the woman's past irritating behaviour as long as she didn't do it again.

She'd probably do her nut when she saw the state that months in Space including several take-offs and re-entries had left the GR in, though.

Vegeta touched down and the door hissed open. He stepped outside and took a moment to enjoy the feel of real sunlight and the freshness of the air. He'd almost forgotten them as well.

OoO

Bulma heard the ship land - it was pretty loud, after all - but she refused to go out and greet the bastard. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Let him come to her. She was sitting in the kitchen, she knew he'd be in eventually. Their last conversation, and everything she'd gone through since then, had almost killed any generous feeling she had for him. Almost, but not entirely. No matter what he did to her, she would never be able to disregard him completely. Not now.

The asshole had left, for _Space_, no less, not just for Europe, without saying one word to her about it. She had at least tried to give him a proper goodbye when she had thought she was the one leaving him behind, but he had rejected it. He had been cruel, even then. Unnecessarily so. And then when she'd contacted him on his ship, her reception had been even worse. Well, if he truly didn't care about her, she didn't need him. She'd handled everything on her own, giving up her new life in Berlin when necessary, and coming back to Capsule Corps, and so far, she thought she'd done alright. Great, under the circumstances.

And here he was, just waltzing back into her life when he felt like it. Well, he was going to get the welcome he deserved. Her parents were out, at least, so they wouldn't be interfering until later.

Vegeta walked into the kitchen having decided that no one was home. He was a little disappointed in the security of the place. Not a soul had come to investigate the landing of the ship, not either of the Briefs, nor an employee. But he didn't see that as an argument to resist raiding their food stores.

But when he saw Bulma, sitting calmly at the dining table, her face already chilled to below zero in preparation for talking to him, he came to a sudden, almost embarrassing stop. She was sitting at the side of the table, so he could see her figure and her face in profile. She was still beautiful, even if she had cut her hair.

Then he noticed what she was doing.

"What the _hell _is that?!" he asked with a tone of morbid fascination and horror.

"What does it look like?" she replied airily, still not looking at him.

"It looks like a fucking baby, is what it looks like!" he replied, still shocked.

"Congratulations, that what _he _is," answered Bulma, spoon-feeding the gurgling infant some yellow slop from a bowl in her lap. It was sitting in a highchair, wearing a bib and a dark hat with cat ears on it. At the moment, its attention seemed torn between investigating the dark-haired stranger in its midst, and receiving as much of the yellow goo as possible.

Vegeta managed to stop himself from spluttering. Just because the woman had a baby, it didn't necessarily have to mean anything. Just because the woman had a baby that she was feeding, alone, apparently very comfortably, didn't mean anything. He tried to investigate this logically. It could easily belong to someone else. After all, the woman didn't _look _like she had been pregnant any time recently. She looked just like he remembered her, except for the hair, of course.

"Are you… watching it?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" was Bulma's arch reply.

"I mean, are you merely minding the child temporarily?" he snapped back, not appreciating her duplicity.

"No, Vegeta, I am not babysitting."

He waited for more, but Bulma kept her lips decidedly sealed, her eyebrows raised snootily, and her attention on the baby. "Woman, I demand that you explain the presence of this child immediately!" Vegeta ordered with frustration.

"What do you mean?" she said again.

He snarled and moved closer to her. "Who is the child?" he growled.

"His name is Trunks," Bulma replied idly, spooning more of the food into the baby's eager mouth.

She was making this feel like pulling teeth, but Vegeta supposed he didn't really deserve a ready explanation, having just turned up with no warning.

"And who are his parents?"

Bulma hesitated and something flittered in her eyes, making the spoon in her hand shake. She quickly put it back in the bowl so as not to give herself away. Trunks made a confused noise as he watched the food be withdrawn, his mouth hanging open as if he was playing Charades, but he was ignored.

Frustrated even more, Vegeta seized Bulma's arms and pulled her to her feet, forcing her to look at him. "Who is his mother?" he asked, his voice hard and steady.

"I am," she almost whispered. "He's my son."

Vegeta felt something cold slither into his chest, like betrayal, regret, disappointment. She had become a mother in his absence. What did that mean? And where was this man that had taken his place? Unless…

"And who… Who is the father?" Vegeta asked. She turned her bottomless blue eyes up to his hard black ones.

"Oh, Vegeta… Who do you think?" she said, her voice soft with something almost like pity, but it might just as easily have been fear.

He shook her once, not hard. "Tell me," he said, his voice just as soft, but desperate.

"You are, Vegeta. You're his father."

His hands went limp and slipped from her arms as he tried to process this information. Bulma whirled away from him, snatching Trunks up from his highchair and carrying him through to the other room, where she paced back and forth with him. She was going through something of an emotional crisis, but all the baby cared about was that he had been taken away from his lunch before he had eaten his fill, and so he started to fuss. Bulma shushed him absent-mindedly as she paced.

Everything she'd feared when she had hesitated to tell Vegeta about her pregnancy came back to her. What if Vegeta didn't want him? She knew the Saiyan's opinion of humans in general, how would he feel about a hybrid son? Especially since he was the proud Prince and all that. Like it or not, the Saiyan empire, or what was left of it, now had a half-human heir. Would Vegeta allow that? What if he didn't? What if he intended for the Royal family to end with him? Bulma had no idea how Saiyans felt about infanticide. Normally, she would have said they were against it, anybody would be, but they sent their babies of by themselves to fight and conquer worlds, didn't they? Bulma couldn't be sure Trunks was safe from his father, and when it came to her baby, she needed to be _sure_.

"Are you telling me that _that _is my son?"

Vegeta had followed her into the room, and he now stood in the doorway, supporting himself with one hand against the jamb. His voice sounded hollow, shell-shocked, but also as if he was coming to a conclusion somewhere in his mind.

Bulma spun, and stood facing him, her heart racing as she tried to think of what to do. She didn't know that Vegeta would hurt Trunks, but she couldn't risk it. However, she knew that any action she took to try to prevent it would only infuriate the Saiyan. Trunks seemed to have become aware of his mother's distress and had gone silent, food forgotten as he looked around curiously, twisting in Bulma's arms, trying to see over his shoulder.

Vegeta walked closer as she dithered, and Bulma grasped Trunks a little tighter. "Don't hurt him!" The words quietly escaped her lips before she could stop them. Vegeta stopped dead.

"What?" he asked.

"D-don't hurt him, Vegeta, please…" she repeated.

"You think I would harm my own child?" he verified, scandalised.

"I, I don't know, I mean, I'm not sure," Bulma hastened, but she knew she wasn't making things any better.

Vegeta looked at her steadily, and there was no sign of any ill intent in his face or stature.

"I will not, I promise you. Now come closer, I wish to examine him," Vegeta soothed.

If this truly was his child, his son, it was heart-warming to see how the woman cradled it to her bosom, protecting it, apparently genuinely caring for it. Impossible, incredible. He would never have thought that she would want anything to do with any part of him. He found it amazing that she had not simply aborted the boy with disgust the instant she discovered her pregnancy. Why would she want _his _son? Why? He hadn't even been there, he had nothing to offer her. He hadn't even been congenial during their last conversations.

Bulma hesitated, but then she crossed the room and sat on the couch. She looked at him, waiting for him to join her. Vegeta conceded and sat next to her, and she gently removed Trunks from against her shoulder to sit him on Vegeta's leg, taking the man's hand and placing it against the infant's back to protect him from falling. Removed from his mother, Trunks now looked up at his father in confusion.

Vegeta's first thought was, _he's so small._ How could something that size ever grow up to be a person? It seemed ridiculous. And he was so soft, all baby-fat. And his existence was so precarious, if he took his hand away, the baby wouldn't even be able to sit up on his own. He would fall over backwards and hit the ground without being able to stop himself. The baby gurgled up at Vegeta.

"He has your eyes, I see," said Vegeta ineffectually. "And purple hair," he added with a slight frown.

"My father's hair was the same colour when he was younger," replied Bulma, watching their interaction carefully. She was trying to make sure Trunks was safe, but she could feel herself become less and less diligent. There had always been a part of her that had wanted Vegeta to be there, and now she couldn't help but trust him, and bask in the moment as her son found his father. "And you know, when he's angry, he looks just like you," she added tenderly.

Vegeta looked at her in shock. Could there really be anything of him in this child?

"He doesn't _feel _much like a Saiyan," he criticised sternly, still not fully believing it was true. To his surprise, Bulma let out a bark of laughter.

"Try getting him to do something he doesn't want to do, and then tell me he isn't a Saiyan! Why do you think I cut my hair? He practically gave me whiplash pulling on it," she said. But Vegeta was caught up in watching her smile. She looked happy, she shone with joy the way she'd used to before she had died in that carbon monoxide leak. That seemed so long ago now.

"And if you still don't believe me," she took the boy back gently, placing his front against her chest, with his little arms holding onto her shoulder. Then she pulled down the back of his nappy, revealing a little scar at the base of the boy's spine. "He had a little violet tail when he was born. All the doctors were amazed, they said they'd never seen anything like it. We had to cut it off, you understand, don't you? He would have done that… giant monkey thing that you do. But don't worry, I took pictures, if you want to see."

Giant monkey thing. Was that how the ignorant humans understood his people's sacred Oozaru form? And they'd cut of his son's tail. Of course, they had. Vegeta wished he had the man who had taken a knife to his child in front of him now, so that he could twist his head off like a bottle top. But, Vegeta reasoned, trying to calm himself down, at the time, the woman had expected to raise the child alone. It would have been too much to ask for her to deal with an infant Oozaru. She would almost certainly have been killed, and Vegeta realised that that would have upset him very much indeed. He could understand and forgive her decision to mutilate his son, but it would take a while for him to fully come to terms with it.

Bulma lay Trunks down on her lap, and shifted as close as she could to Vegeta, so that he could still look closely at his son.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Vegeta quietly, half-afraid of the answer. He remembered how scared for her child the woman had been just moments before. She had thought he would not want the child, and seek to destroy it, presumably because it was half-human and he had always scorned her race compared to the noble Saiyans. But he would show her that he would be a good father to the boy, strong, and a good mentor.

Bulma looked at him in shock. "I tried! I called you on the ship!" she said. Vegeta remembered the discussion with a wince. He had been so foolish and stubborn. "You said you didn't care," she finished sadly, looking back at her son.

Vegeta felt the uncharacteristic urge to put his arm around her, to draw her close to him and comfort her. As if she would take any comfort from that, it would probably just scare her all the more.

"I was angry," he offered as an explanation, and hoped she would take it as an apology.

"Yeah, I know. But moving away was something I felt I had to do. I had to rebuild my life from scratch if it was going to be worth anything," answered the woman, idly playing with Trunks' hands. "But then this little guy came along, and I suddenly felt like I was doing good, as if by helping him, I was somehow helping… helping you. I know it sounds stupid, but he really does look like you sometimes, and it was as if, by making sure he had a happy life, then maybe some of the crap that's happened to you would be undone."

Vegeta stared at her. She never ceased to amaze him. "Nothing can ever undo what has been done to me," he said gruffly. "But I appreciate that you would try," he added, trying to show her some emotion but finding it difficult.

"Vegeta, why did you leave?" Bulma asked suddenly.

The Saiyan didn't really want to answer, but he decided that if they were going to have family together, and if he ever wanted to share her bed again, then answering her questions was a step in the right direction.

"To train. And because I wasn't going to chase after you like a dog, but without you, there was nothing left to keep me on this planet," he said.

Bulma looked at him, her face slack but her eyes swirled with a hope she was fighting. "So why did you come back?"

"To fight the androids. I said I would defend you, and I will. Always. It's all I have to give."

Hs voice had grown deep and soft, and Bulma was already leaning towards him, her eyes half-lidded. Their lips met and they kissed deeply. Bulma put her hand to the back of her Prince's head as she leaned into him, and his hands went to her waist. They twisted where they sat and Bulma leant against the back of the couch, pulling Vegeta with her. As their kiss gained intensity, Trunks let out a squall, annoyed at being ignored. They regretfully separated, but Bulma kept Vegeta close to her with a hand on his face, despite Trunks' continued fussing.

"I forgot to ask. Did you reach Super Saiyan while you were in Space?" she said.

"Oh. Yes, I did," answered the Prince. Bulma waited for more but nothing came.

"That's all you have to say about it, after wanting it for so long?" she said. Vegeta looked confused, so she spoke again before she ended up offending him. She just took it as a personal compliment that finally ascending was not the most important or interesting thing to him right then. "You know you're going to have to show me some time, I've been looking forward to seeing you as a blond." She wasn't really teasing him either, she was sincerely happy for him, and she wanted to see the end result of all their efforts, his with his training, and her with her inventions. "I always knew you could do it, Vegeta," she added softly, watching his black eyes watching her.

She was going to kiss him again, when the mood was ruined somewhat by a stray kick to the stomach by the baby in her lap. She doubled over with an 'Oof.' Vegeta leant away, looking at the infant disapprovingly.

"Okay, tough guy, I get it," Bulma answered her son, picking him up again. "Why don't we go finish your lunch. After all, Daddy's not going anywhere, is he?" She looked at Vegeta.

"No, he is not," he answered, feeling strangely comfortable with that statement.

Bulma walked back to the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway to look back at him. "Welcome home, Vegeta," she said. "Now all we have to do is get along." Bulma pulled a face as if to say it was a daunting task, but then she smiled at him, and Vegeta didn't really think it was so impossible.

**Author's Note: **Ew! Mushy, or what? I wasn't aiming for an Attack of the Fluffbunnies ending, it just kind of turned out that way. Anyway, yeah, this is THE END, which, for a one-shot, I think is pretty good. Hope you enjoyed it, hope it left you feeling satisfied, and all that, not in a creepy way.


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